


Cloudburst

by Emmyllou



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Background Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit, Regency, background johnsquared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmyllou/pseuds/Emmyllou
Summary: A new student arrives at Starecross Hall, and Catherine Redruth isn't happy about it. Together, they explore fairy roads, undertake commissions for the good people of Yorkshire, and discover the secrets of a magical England.Rated M for content in later chapters.





	1. An Unlikely Tutor

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to my alpha reader [pablo360](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pablo360/pseuds/Pablo360), without whom this fic would be in much worse condition.
> 
> Title taken from [Cloudburst](https://ericwhitacre.com/music-catalog/cloudburst), which brings my current rate of fics named after Eric Whitacre songs to 50%.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 1820

Catherine Redruth was sorting herbs in the kitchen of Starecross Hall when she heard the news. “We’ve found a new student,” Mr. Segundus said, excitement writ plainly across his face.

Catherine didn’t look up from her task. “What’s his name?” she asked.

“Her name,” said Mr. Segundus, “is Miss Lenora Devereaux.”

That caught Catherine’s attention. “Who is she?”

“She’s the sister of the Viscount Hereford and the fifth daughter of the late George Devereaux, the previous Viscount Hereford.”

“How very grand.” Catherine tied the herbs in a bundle and cast about for a stepladder.

“I’ll thank you to show her the proper respect her station is due,” Mr. Segundus said with a mild air of disapproval—and oh, Catherine was used to his disapproval. He fetched Catherine a chair and offered her a steadying hand as she clambered up.

“When shall I have the opportunity to do so?” Catherine looped the twine around a bent nail in a crossbeam and hopped back down.

“Soon, I hope, and often. I want you to tutor her.”

“It’s my summer holiday, too,” Catherine protested. “Besides, I doubt the Viscount Hereford would want his sister taught by a hedge witch out of t' East Riding.” She allowed her normally soft Yorkshire accent to become quite broad.

“Quite the contrary,” said Mr. Segundus with a small smile. “The Viscount Hereford and the dowager Viscountess specifically requested a female tutor, and they were quite happy when they heard you and Miss Devereaux are of an age. We shall give her the standard aptitude tests, of course, but from what her parents told me, it is my belief that she will do quite well with the advanced magicians.”

Despite her misgivings, Catherine was interested. “What’s her magical background?”

“It’s relatively shoddy, from what I gather,” Mr. Segundus said. “She demonstrated her ability with complex spells during our interview, but she lacks the basics. Hence the need for a tutor.”

“Let me get this straight,” Catherine said. She put one hand on her hip. “You want me to take time away from my extracurricular studies, which, may I remind you, you assigned me in the first place, saying that they were crucial to ensuring the safety of the students and residents of Starecross Hall and the surrounding area—”

“I don’t think I put it quite like that,” Mr. Segundus mumbled.

“You put it exactly like that,” said Catherine. “As I was saying. You want me to divert my attention from my studies of vital importance to teach basic magical theory to a minor southern noblewoman of dubious ability?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind it if you took her along on your outings,” Mr. Segundus said. “She claimed to be a decent rider.”

“Oh, yes, brilliant. That’s just what I need,” said Catherine. “Someone to nanny while I wander down fairy roads. I’d just love to bring an inexperienced magician, a woman, mind you, along with me.”

“I thought you’d be glad at the chance to work with another female magician.” Mr. Segundus’s brow furrowed. A lock of greying hair floated on a breeze that wasn't there, and he impatiently pushed it back.

“I am,” said Catherine. “Right happy, in fact. But I think it’s a terrible idea.”

"Yes, well." Mr. Segundus gave her an odd look. "We shall have to see what you make of it."

Catherine and Mr. Segundus, along with a few members of the manor house’s summer staff, awaited Miss Lenora Devereaux’s arrival outside the front gate. The lady was not what Catherine would have expected, if Catherine had bothered to expect anything. She rode in on her own horse, a magnificent dun mare, instead of in the coach that followed her. Her auburn hair was in the process of escaping its neat updo, and it hung in curls around her long neck. Her face beneath her wide-brimmed riding hat was flushed with exertion and the June heat, and Catherine saw, once she dismounted, that she was quite tall. She made Catherine, with her sunburned arms and her dress still muddy from the garden, feel rather small and dark in comparison; Catherine resented this feeling.

Mr. Segundus strode forward with a wide smile on his face. "Welcome, Miss Devereaux," he said. "Did you have a safe journey?"

"I did indeed, Mr. Segundus!" Miss Devereaux's voice held only a minor trace of a rural accent. "Northern England is a lovely country. I enjoyed riding through it immensely. And the village down the road is quite charming."

"Did you ride all the way here?" asked Mr. Segundus as Miss Devereaux handed her reins off to a groom.

"Most of the way. It rained just as we were crossing into Shropshire." Miss Devereaux watched as her maid and Thomas the footman unloaded her belongings from the back of the coach.

"Allow me to introduce you to Miss Catherine Redruth," said Mr. Segundus. "I understand that you have some gaps in your knowledge of magical theory— perfectly understandable gaps, of course— and Miss Redruth shall help you patch those up, as it were."

"Indeed?" Miss Devereaux ran a keen eye over Catherine, and Catherine bristled under her regard. She did not like to imagine what Miss Devereaux thought of her. "I look forward to it, Miss Redruth."

"As do I, Miss Devereaux," said Catherine with a false smile.

"Now, I'll give you a quick tour and then let you settle in," Mr. Segundus said. "Or, er, perhaps you'd like to refresh yourself first, and then see the house?"

Miss Devereaux took pity on his distress. "I'd like to change out of my riding clothes first, I think. And perhaps I'll take tea in my room while my maid unpacks."

"Of course," said Mr. Segundus. "I'll show you where you'll be staying. Thomas, have Mrs. Price send up some tea. Now, Miss Devereaux, if you'll just follow me..." He led Miss Devereaux through the lobby of Starecross Hall, and Catherine watched them disappear up the stairs.

Catherine dawdled in the library long enough to allow Miss Devereaux to safely ensconce herself in her rooms then climbed the stairs herself. She made her way to her own set of rooms, far away from the rooms of the other magicians who lived at Starecross Hall. They were all men, and Mr. Segundus thought it only proper that her rooms should be isolated from theirs, should they get any ungentlemanly ideas. Catherine wasn't worried. William Hadley-Bright was too good-natured, and Henry Purfois was even more concerned with propriety than Mr. Segundus. Tom Levy was cheeky, but he restrained his mischief-making around Catherine. She rather wished he wouldn't; his insolence amused her. The only other man who could be said to live at Starecross Hall, even during the summer holiday, was Childermass, and he wasn't there nearly as often as Catherine would have liked. Besides, given the way he looked at Mr. Segundus when he thought nobody was watching, Catherine felt sure she had nothing to worry about from him.

Catherine's room was small and bright, and the furnishings were peculiarly arranged; they had all been pushed back against the walls to leave the center of the room clear. One of the walls of Catherine's room was entirely covered by a map composed of many sheets of paper pasted together. Mr. Segundus had complained at first about the waste of paper, but Catherine had pointed out that  _ he  _ wasn't the one paying for paper, Mrs. Lennox was, and Mrs. Lennox had instructed Mr. Segundus to provide anything the students might need. Catherine was quite proud of this map. It had started as a fairly standard map of Yorkshire; roads and cities neatly labeled in black ink, rivers and lakes in blue, and a grid done in a light hand over all. What made it unique were the meandering fairy paths done in various colors of ink, according to what one might find if one were to follow a path to its end. Other symbols were scattered over the map as well; here a fairy spring, there a fairy orchard. These notations were clustered around the village of Starecross, for that was Catherine's primary concern; she hoped that soon, after she had mastered a bit more magic and perhaps acquired an assistant, she would be able to travel across the whole of Yorkshire taking notes for her map.

Catherine stared at the map, her hands clasped behind her back in a rather unladylike pose. Her eyes followed the familiar lines, and she smiled in satisfaction. She was making decent progress, considering Mr. Segundus had only assigned her this project last fall. She had spent the better part of two years studying and practicing magic until Mr. Segundus and Childermass had been convinced that she was up to the task. The notebook she took with her when she explored was sitting on a nearby table; this she grabbed and flipped open to her most recent page. She had stumbled upon what she suspected was a fairy gate just a few miles off the road to York, and she intended to go back during her next free day to investigate. Catherine was quite happily engaged in the task of planning this trip when Mr. Segundus knocked on the door to her room.

"I had thought to test Miss Devereaux's abilities now," he said by way of explanation when Catherine poked her head out.

"Alright," said Catherine. She glanced at Miss Devereaux, standing in the hallway behind him. She had changed from her riding clothes into a simple, high-waisted gown in a leaf green color. It made her hair look redder and her eyes greener. Catherine liked the effect and disliked herself for thinking so.

Mr. Segundus fidgeted with his sleeve. "Would you care to join us?"

"What for?"

"Because you are to be her tutor," Mr. Segundus explained patiently. "It might be best if you witnessed her abilities yourself, rather than relying on my report."

"But your reports are always so thorough, Mr. Segundus," said Catherine. Miss Devereaux stifled a chuckle, and Catherine was annoyed. She didn't like the idea of someone else, someone new, making fun of Mr. Segundus. Only  _ she _ was permitted to do that, and possibly Childermass. It was this more than anything else that spurred Catherine to follow Mr. Segundus and Miss Devereaux to the drawing room, where Mr. Segundus had already set out several implements and tools of magic.

Mr. Segundus sat down at a spindly writing desk. He paused, quill in hand. "Are you ready to begin?" Miss Devereaux nodded, and he continued. "Please describe to me the whereabouts of the magician William Hadley-Bright."

Miss Devereaux cast about the room until she spotted a shallow, mirrored dish. She filled it with water from a nearby jug and, with a look of intense concentration, drew a circle in the water and quartered it. Nothing happened. She frowned and tried again, and this time, a white light shone out of the water and illuminated her face. The magical light washed out her complexion and turned her hazel eyes to gold, and Catherine thought she looked quite fey. Miss Devereaux drew another quartered circle upon the water, presumably still searching for Mr. Hadley-Bright. "I think I have found him," she said. "Though I do not know what he looks like."

Catherine crossed to look over her shoulder. "You have indeed found him."

"Where is he?" Mr. Segundus asked, his quill flying across the parchment on his desk.

"The tavern in the village, it looks like," said Catherine. Mr. Segundus and Miss Devereaux looked at her. "What?"

"Miss Devereaux was supposed to answer," Mr. Segundus said.

"Well, she doesn't know what the tavern looks like!"

"Neither should you," said Mr. Segundus reprovingly. "It is no matter. Miss Devereaux, please perform Stokesey's Vitrification on one of the flowers from that vase you see by the window."

"I beg your pardon," Miss Devereaux said. "Stokesey's... Vitrification?"

Mr. Segundus sighed. "Never mind. It is a simple enough spell, if not always useful. You shall have to study it in your free time. You have already demonstrated your ability with Pale's Restoration and Rectification— thank you again for that, by the way— so I believe we shall skip that one. Now, please take that block of beeswax and attempt to enclose in it a sense of justice..."

Mr. Segundus's test proceeded in this manner for over an hour. Occasionally, Catherine was obliged to take notes while Mr. Segundus performed a spell on Miss Devereaux, or vice versa. In one instance, Catherine herself cast an enchantment on Miss Devereaux, who then twirled and leaped about the room as though she were a ballet dancer. It took her some minutes to break Catherine's enchantment, and she laughed heartily when she looked over Mr. Segundus's description of her movements. This nettled Catherine; she wasn't sure why. Mr. Segundus ended the examination by quizzing Miss Devereaux on the properties of various trees and herbs and wildflowers. He asked which plants she might invoke if she wanted to achieve one magical effect or another, but she was unable to answer any but the most basic questions.

"It's quite alright," said Mr. Segundus when Miss Devereaux apologized for her ignorance. "Miss Redruth is our foremost expert in the magic of plants. She'll see that you learn."

"Where shall you place me?" Miss Devereaux asked after the test concluded.

Mr. Segundus looked over his notes. "As I suspected earlier, you'll find little of value in the classes for the younger pupils. You are capable of complex spells, but your fundamentals are lacking. I believe you'll excel with Mr. Hadley-Bright, Mr. Purfois, Mr. Levy, and Miss Redruth, provided you can do the necessary reading over the summer holiday."

Miss Deveraux did not look put out by the suggestion of reading. "I am eager to get started," she said.

"Miss Redruth and I shall draw up a schedule after luncheon." Mr. Segundus filed his notes away in the tidy desk. "Which, I'm sure, is getting cold. Mrs. Price will give me an earful later; she likes us to be prompt for our meals."

Luncheon was an informal affair. Henry Purfois joined them and made excuses for Tom Levy and William Hadley-Bright, who were having their dinner in the public house in the village. Afterward, Henry persuaded Miss Devereaux to allow him to show her around the land surrounding Starecross Hall, and Catherine and Mr. Segundus retired to the library.

"What do you think of her?" Mr. Segundus asked.

"Mr. Segundus, is that gossip I hear?" Catherine idly straightened a few books on a nearby shelf.

"Of course not. I only meant— that is to say, I wanted to inquire—" Mr. Segundus stammered. A slight flush rose on his cheeks, and Catherine smiled to herself.

"Miss Devereaux must think right high of herself to put on such airs," said Catherine a moment later.

"Airs?" Mr. Segundus repeated. "She seemed perfectly polite to me."

"Yes, well." Catherine yanked a book out of the shelf and stalked to a nearby armchair. "You men are always susceptible to that sort of thing. Look at Henry, earlier."

"Now you are the gossip," Mr. Segundus chided.

Catherine opened her book to a random page, and she didn't look at Mr. Segundus when she spoke. "Is she really the kind of person we want representing magicians?"

"Because she is from Southern England? I had not thought you so prejudiced, Miss Redruth."

"Nay," said Catherine. "Because she is so... proper."

"Ah," Mr. Segundus said delicately. "And that is a bad thing in your mind, I take it."

Catherine could not adequately explain her distaste for Miss Devereaux. "It goes against everything Mr. Strange wanted for magic." That wasn't the whole of it, though. Something about Miss Devereaux's rightness, her propriety, rankled. Catherine had spent so much of her life being looked down upon by women such as Miss Devereaux, and the study and practice of magic was supposed to be her escape. Catherine thought it unfair that even here in her new home of scholarship, she would be compared to yet another  _ better _ woman; she had no doubt that she would be found lacking.

Mr. Segundus paced the length of the library. "I feel I must remind you that of the two of us here, I am the one who has actually met and corresponded with Mr. Strange. I do not think he would object to Miss Devereaux the way you seem to believe he would. Mr. Strange himself was a Southern English gentleman."

This conversation was not going the way Catherine had planned. She cast about for a distraction. "When shall Childermass return?" she asked after a moment, and she enjoyed watching Mr. Segundus's cheeks color once more.

"He has not enlightened me regarding his plans for the immediate future," said Mr. Segundus rather stiffly. "I imagine he shall return before the end of June. That seems to be his pattern— away for  _ weeks  _ at a time, with nary a word in between, then showing up unannounced only to leave again in a matter of days."

"I should like to see him again soon." Catherine glanced at Mr. Segundus. "He was teaching me to read the cards of Marseilles, last time he was here."

Mr. Segundus's head turned so fast that his hair flitted up in twists and curls. After years of living in proximity to English magic, his susceptibility to it had diminished but not disappeared entirely. Powerful spells no longer made him weak or ill, though his hair had a peculiar disregard for gravity, and he sometimes got an insubstantial, watery look about him. On these occasions he was obliged to lie down for several days until he appeared solid once more. "That is not a very proper topic of study for a young lady!"

"I am not a very proper young lady," Catherine replied hotly. "And I shall study whichever topics I wish."

Mr. Segundus studied her across the room. "Yes, I suppose you shall." He sighed. "Would you be so kind as to begin Miss Devereaux's instruction this afternoon? I am quite worried about her lack of botanical knowledge."

"Does she not want to take the rest of the day to settle in?"

"No, she indicated to me earlier while I gave her a brief tour that she was eager to begin her instruction."

Catherine closed her book. "I suppose I must, then. Where is she, do you think?"

"Why don't you find out yourself?" Mr. Segundus's mouth quirked up in a smile. "I am going to put together a short reading list for her."

"Perhaps you should start with Stokesey," said Catherine. She crossed to the other side of the library and pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain that covered a large, old-fashioned mirror.

"Do not be unkind," Mr. Segundus said as Catherine drew and quartered a circle on the mirror's surface. "You have the advantage in the study of magic."

"She has the advantage in everything else." Catherine named each of the circle quadrants after parts of the Starecross Hall estate. She found Miss Devereaux and Henry walking beside the creek that ran through the moor behind the Hall. Henry said something to make Miss Devereaux laugh, and her face lit up in delight beneath her cream-white parasol. After a moment, she seemed to realize she was being watched; she looked around in confusion, though Henry did not notice anything amiss. Miss Devereaux halted and said something to Henry, then they started on their way back to the house. Catherine watched them for a minute more before ending the spell and making her way to the front garden.

A stray tabby cat often visited Starecross Hall. Catherine liked to refer to the tabby as her familiar; ironically, the cat hated her and could not stand to be in her presence for more than a minute at a time. This suited Catherine just fine, because she was highly allergic to cats and could not touch the creature without breaking out all over in itchy red hives. Still, Catherine was quite irritated when upon her arrival in the gardens, she caught sight of the tabby purring and rubbing herself endearingly along the hem of Miss Devereaux's skirt.  _ Traitor! _ Catherine cursed the cat in her mind. The cat must have heard her, for she hissed and sped away into the moor.

"What a sweet cat," Miss Devereaux said as the tabby's tail disappeared among the heather. "I hope she'll be back."

"Of course she'll be back," said Catherine. "I've planted a patch of catsmint special for her."

Miss Devereaux matched her strides to Catherine's, and Catherine steered them toward the herb garden at the side of the house. "Do you have no parasol, Miss Redruth?" she asked.

Catherine did not want to admit that no, she had no parasol. "It's being repaired," she said instead.

"Oh! I've a spare, which you may borrow if you wish."

"Thank you, no." They approached the herb garden. "A great many spells depend on the invocation of various trees or flowers," said Catherine. "It is Mr. Segundus's opinion, and I agree, that you must first learn the magical properties of plants if you are to keep up with the rest of us in our studies." Miss Devereaux nodded eagerly, and Catherine knelt down by a small, shrubby plant with white flowers. "This is rosemary. You may invoke it for protection and healing spells. When burned, it wards off ill humors and spirits. It is hardy, but you must thank it polite after you remove its leaves or flowers, else it will become offended and refuse to bloom." Miss Devereaux looked as though she were trying not to laugh. "This is no jest," Catherine said with annoyance. "You should know by now that all plants, and indeed all stones and the wind and the sky, have minds of their own. This is the Raven King's magic we do."

Miss Devereaux composed herself. "I beg your pardon," she said. "I was not laughing at you. Only, you remind me of our gardener's wife, back at home. She speaks of plants in much the same way."

"Is she a magician an' all?" Catherine asked, mollified.

Miss Devereaux shook her head. "She said she didn't have the patience for study, but the plants talked to her and she listened." She took a step stooped down to examine the purple flowers of a fragrant shrub. "This is lavender, right? What's it used for?"

"Lavender promotes restful sleep free from nightmares, and it can be used in potions and spells to attract love." Catherine shot Miss Devereaux a sharp glance. "There'll be nowt of  _ that _ sort of magic performed here."

"Of course," said Miss Devereaux. "How do I thank it?"

"You must reassure it that you will not use it for evil. Though it’s a noble herb, it does not always know its value, and it oft worries that magicians shall use it with ill intent."

The women continued around the herb garden in this manner, Catherine naming plants and their properties and Miss Devereaux pausing to smell them and touch them with a delicate hand. After they had been up and down the rows that Catherine had planned, planted, and nurtured, Miss Devereaux took the lead. She walked through the garden once more, naming each plant she remembered and describing its properties. Catherine was grudgingly impressed; Miss Devereaux had remembered most of the names and more than half of their magical uses.

"I'll draw up a list for you to study," Catherine said as they made their way around to the front of the house. "And I expect it doesn't need to be said, but you must ask me afore you take owt from the garden."

"I certainly shall," said Miss Devereaux. They stepped into the welcome shade of the Starecross Hall lobby. William Hadley-Bright, Henry Purfois, and Tom Levy were waiting by the staircase, and they eagerly surrounded Miss Devereaux as Henry made introductions.

"Afternoon tea will be served in an hour," Catherine said, but no one paid her any mind. She sighed and retreated to the library, where Mr. Segundus scribbled on a piece of paper.

Mr. Segundus glanced at her before returning to his task. "How did her first lesson go?" he asked.

"Miss Devereaux is a fast learner," Catherine said. She wandered along the shelves, trailing her finger over the spines of the books. Despite Mr. Segundus and Childermass's best efforts, the shelves were still sparse, though they were fuller than they had been three years ago. "She shall be a credit to this school."

"Yes, I expect so." Mr. Segundus stopped writing, and Catherine felt the pressure of his gaze on the back of her neck. "I hope that you will be a good friend to her. It would be well to have two female magicians working closely in the study of magic, and it would go a long way to dispelling the prejudices that that  _ tyrannical  _ man—" Catherine knew he meant Mr. Norrell "—saw fit to put about."

"Yes," Catherine said. Her eyes burned. "I am sure we shall grow to be right close friends. Please excuse me, Mr. Segundus." She hurried out of the library and up the stairs before Mr. Segundus could respond. Tom Levy called out to her from the lobby, but she didn't pause. She barely made it to her room before her tears began to fall.


	2. Stones Beneath the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 1820

Several weeks passed, during which Miss Devereaux was thoroughly engaged in the study of magic. She browsed through magical periodicals over breakfast, learned about the magical properties of plants from Catherine in the midmorning, practiced magic with Mr. Segundus in the afternoons, and read books about magic by candlelight late into the evening. Magic quite consumed her life, and Catherine thought she seemed happier for it. Catherine herself experienced the opposite effect: her efforts at mapping fairy roads were neglected by necessity, which frustrated her and made her snappish when the gentlemen magicians would regale her with stories of their own magical accomplishments over supper. She looked forward to the time when she would no longer be obliged to tutor her new pupil. The blackberry bushes grew thick, promising an abundant harvest in the fall, and Catherine took some pleasure in the notion that her skill in magical gardening was unmatched.

"Miss Redruth," said Mr. Segundus one day at breakfast. "Did you not mention some weeks ago that you had discovered a fairy gate near Starecross?"

Catherine set her glass of water down. "I did, Mr. Segundus, but I have not yet had the opportunity to go back and investigate proper."

"Today might be a lovely day for that, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," Catherine said. "I had not thought about it."

"Well, think about it now. Perhaps you could take Miss Devereaux with you."

Catherine glanced at Miss Devereaux, who was following the conversation with interest. "Shall the men accompany us an' all?" Tom Levy looked up at that, but Henry Purfois and William Hadley-Bright were engaged in a spirited debate and did not notice that she had spoken of them.

Mr. Segundus considered it for a moment. "No, I think not," he said. "We have had several commissions from the village. I wish to see how they do with those."

"What sort of commissions?" Miss Devereaux asked.

"Small things," said Mr. Segundus. "The blessing of crops and animals, the warding away of evil spirits." He pulled a handful of letters from his pocket and flicked through them. "One woman believes her loom is haunted by a fairy. Oh dear. She claims that the fairy intentionally fouls up her tapestries."

"Can fairies even haunt looms?" wondered Miss Devereaux.

"Not often," Catherine said. "I expect the woman is a just poor tapestry-weaver." That got a laugh out of Tom, and even Mr. Segundus smiled, though he shot her a reproving look over his morning coffee.

After breakfast, Catherine changed into her favorite riding dress, a light cotton garment that required no petticoat. The skirt was split down the front and back into two pieces whose vertical edges overlapped by several inches; this provided her with modesty as well as the ability to use a hunting saddle without much bother. She had had several specially made in York when it became clear she would need to do a great deal of riding. Underneath, she wore a man's breeches, and her riding hat and gloves were bright red.

"Do you have owt that’s red to wear?" Catherine asked Miss Devereaux when they met in the lobby.

"No," said Miss Devereaux. "It does not suit my complexion."

Catherine scoffed at that. "Red is powerful proof against enchantments."

"I have anointed myself with salt and rowan, at your suggestion."

"That will not be enough to protect your mind from fairy magic."

Miss Devereaux huffed in frustration. "Then I shall cast Taillemache's Shield."

"That'll be no use if an enchantment is laid upon your person!"

They argued thus until Mr. Segundus, disturbed by the noise, emerged from the library. Catherine explained the conversation to him; as she spoke, he seemed to experience the rapid onset of a headache. He retreated back into the library with the kind of helpless little shrug Catherine was used to seeing in response to Tom Levy's more devilish habits.

Mrs. Price had prepared a small luncheon for Catherine and Miss Devereaux, and the groom saddled their horses. The sun was already growing warm and the smell of heather and wildflowers filled the air; summer was well and truly upon Yorkshire, now. Catherine was glad that she had purchased a parasol in the village a week ago, for even the slight shade it would provide if they had to dismount would be welcome.

"You do not ride side saddle," Miss Devereaux observed as they set off down the road. Her voice had a conciliatory tone, which vexed Catherine more than the earlier argument had.

"No, I don't," said Catherine. She resented the reminder that she was not proper enough, not ladylike enough. "I must be able to look at my notes as I ride." She had her notebook in one hand and the reins in another. Luckily, her horse was a docile, biddable mare who was used to this confusing position from her rider.

Miss Devereaux drew closer to examine Catherine's skirt. "A clever piece of handiwork," she said. "Did you come up with the design yourself?"

"Is that so hard to believe, Miss Devereaux?" Catherine asked.

Miss Devereaux sighed. "I wish you'd call me Lenora."

"You're the daughter of a viscount, madam," said Catherine. "I am your inferior." Catherine meant for the words to hurt Miss Devereaux, but she suspected she had hurt herself more.

"I am your pupil," Miss Devereaux said. "And I hope one day to be your equal in the study of magic."

Catherine had no reply to that, so they rode in silence. At the place Catherine had marked in her field notebook, she led Miss Devereaux off the road, and they continued riding across the moor. There had once been a path here, Catherine knew, though it had fallen into such disrepair that she could no longer see it. Something of the path's spirit still lingered in the air, enticing Catherine to follow it wherever it would take her, across heather-strewn highlands and babbling brooks, through dark-leafed forests and under grassy barrows. She longed to allow the ancient magic to sweep her up and carry her to its infinite end. When she glanced over at Miss Devereaux, Catherine saw the same longing on the other woman's face.

"Up ahead," Catherine said a few minutes later as they approached their destination. "Can you tell me what kind of trees those are?"

"Birches," said Miss Devereaux.

"Good. What are the magical properties of birch?"

"Protection and purification," Miss Devereaux said after a moment of consideration. "And it is said that birches may make doors to other countries."

"To Faerie, specific. Given those properties, do you think there might be any significance in the way them two birches are growing so close together what their branches are all tangled up?"

"Um." Miss Devereaux hesitated as though she expected some kind of trick. "Yes?"

"Yes indeed." Catherine approached the pair of trees, Miss Devereaux close behind. Their horses shied away, and Catherine dismounted, indicating that Miss Devereaux should follow suit. Catherine muttered a quick incantation to make herself understood. "Stay here," she said to the horses. "And you shall come to no harm." Miss Devereaux's horse pranced nervously, but both animals obeyed.

Catherine dragged Miss Devereaux into position, just in front of the gap between the trees. "Look through there," she said, pointing. "What do you see?"

The branches of the trees bobbed and danced in a breeze that was not there, and Miss Devereaux furrowed her brow. "It looks like... a road leading forth from the gate, with a forest on one side and a river on the other. I see a group of silver towers in the distance, beyond the forest. Black and silver flags fly from their pinnacles. I have never seen such a place in Yorkshire."

"You are not seeing Yorkshire, Miss Devereaux," said Catherine. "That is Faerie. I'm going to walk a few steps through the gate. You should stay here; it is dangerous to go into Faerie unprepared." She rummaged through her saddlebags to retrieve the items she needed to cast a spell of pathfinding. Miss Devereaux did not answer, and Catherine turned to see her step through the gate and into the land beyond. Catherine snarled an unladylike word, hastily cast a spell to show her the way back to England, and followed.

The air in this place was different: soothing and light and carrying the faintest hint of music. Miss Devereaux had made quick progress, and Catherine hurried after her. The forest on one side of the road provided welcome shade, and on the other side, the river burbled cheerfully. It was not an unpleasant sort of place, Catherine thought as she chased after her errant pupil, but that did not mean that it was safe. When she caught up to Miss Devereaux, Catherine found the lady engaged in conversation with a man wearing a strange suit of silver and black with a silver rose at his neck. He lounged against the bole of an oak tree and idly strummed his lute while they spoke; he must be the source of the music Catherine had heard earlier.

"What place is this?" Catherine demanded of the man.

"This is Avalon, lady," said he. "And I am Corwin, its lord and master."

Catherine gripped Miss Devereaux's wrist. "Beg pardon, Lord Corwin. We must be off."

"But I was just about to tell your friend's fortune." Corwin pulled a pack of thin cards from a pouch at his belt and fanned them in one hand. "Do you not want to learn what the future has in store?"

Catherine was interested despite herself. "You read the cards of Marseilles?"

"Yes," said Corwin. "Though I call them Tarot." He frowned as though something was bothering him but he couldn't quite figure out what.

"I was not aware the practice of reading cards was done in Faerie. I mi'sen have an interest in the art." Miss Devereaux's wrist slipped from Catherine's grasp, but she paid her no mind.

"Is that a Yorkshire accent I hear?" Corwin asked.

"Aye," said Catherine, and Corwin's frown deepened.

"Tell me, lady, how did you come to Avalon?"

"Why, there is a gate formed of two birch trees," Catherine said, surprised. "It led us to this road."

"English women should not wander defenseless in Avalon." Corwin stood. "It is a fair land, but all manner of beasts lurk among these trees." Shadows played over his face, and the shade grew less welcoming and more threatening.

"I'm a powerful magician," insisted Catherine. "I am not defenseless."

Corwin studied her face. "Perhaps not. But your friend may be. She’s currently trying to drown herself in the River of the Blessed."

Catherine whirled around, only to see Miss Devereaux step from the riverbank into the rapid water. Catherine rushed to the riverbank, muttering spells to protect both her and her unwary pupil.

"It is not such a bad idea," Corwin called from behind her. "I have heard it said that the souls of those who drown in that river are swept away to Heaven." He laughed and strummed his lute.

Catherine waded out into the water, heedless of the cold or the ruination of her clothes. The current was stronger than she had expected, and she had trouble keeping her footing on the rocky riverbed. Weeds and water plants wound themselves about her ankles, making each step more difficult than the last. Miss Devereaux was just a few steps ahead of her, the water reaching up to her thighs. Catherine's waterlogged dress swirled about her. The split skirt was more of a hindrance than a help as the pieces tangled together in the river. "Miss Devereaux!" Catherine shouted, but Miss Devereaux did not seem to hear her. "Miss Devereaux!" Corwin laughed from the shade of the forest, and Catherine was incensed. "Lenora!"

This broke through whatever enchantment held Miss Devereaux in its grasp, and she turned, a look of surprise on her face. The movement knocked her off balance, however, and she stumbled and fell and was swallowed up by the river. Catherine panicked for a moment before she remembered the spells she had memorized for just such an occasion. She cast a spell to fill Miss Devereaux's lungs with air and another to prevent the current from carrying her away, then reached down through the water and grabbed her arm. Catherine hauled the lady upright, and Miss Devereaux gasped and blinked river water out of her eyes. They stumbled toward the bank, Catherine's grip like iron around Miss Devereaux's wrist, and they managed to keep from slipping through sheer force of will. Corwin was nowhere to be seen.

Afterward, they lay sodden and panting on the riverbank. "Next time," said Catherine. "Wear red!"

It took them some time to recover. Once they did, they followed Catherine's pathfinding spell back to the fairy gate and stepped through into Yorkshire. "We ought to set up some kind of warning," Miss Devereaux suggested. Catherine agreed, though she was annoyed with herself that she had not been the one to put forth the idea.

"I shall come back another day and put a sign up proper," said Catherine. "For now, it must do for us to create a magic circle to prevent fairy enchantments from coming through the gate."

"How shall we do that?" Miss Devereaux asked. She looked excited at the prospect of magic.

"A ring of stones, I think," said Catherine. "Find me some juniper and some bracken."

"Where?"

"Look about thissen!" Catherine said. She flung her hands up in frustration. "You are in the middle of a moor."

Miss Devereaux nodded. "Right." She set off in a random direction.

Catherine rolled her eyes and got to work. She counted off seven steps from the center of the pair of birch trees, then paced a circle around the trees, tramping down the heather and moor-grasses as she went. Her dress was still wet from the River of the Blessed, and it clung damply to her legs. Catherine pushed aside her fatigue and spoke to the spirits of the stones that lay sleeping under the heather. They grumbled at being awoken; they did not want to bestir themselves to emerge into the sun. Catherine was insistent though, and the stones remembered well the days when John Uskglass rode over them. Once she invoked the name of the Raven King, the stones grudgingly lifted themselves above the ground with a great grinding din and formed into small, knee-high cairns along the circle Catherine had trodden. She stood with her hands on her hips, admiring her handiwork, until Miss Devereaux returned carrying several armfuls of juniper and bracken in her skirt. The lady looked rather dirtier and more frazzled than she had when she set out. She had lost her riding hat in the river, and now she appeared to have lost several hairpins. "I only needed a few branches of each," Catherine said, amused.

Miss Devereaux let go of her hem, and the plants fell to the moor. "You did not say."

"Yes, well." Catherine did not bother concealing her smile. "It's no matter. Fetch the mortar and pestle from the saddlebags."

"The mortar and pestle?" Miss Devereaux repeated.

"Yes, the mortar and pestle," said Catherine. "And the waterskin. We need to make a thin paste of the leaves and anoint each cairn."

"I do not believe I packed the mortar and pestle." Miss Devereaux was too restrained to fidget, but she looked as though she wanted to.

Catherine huffed. "I instructed you to pack the standard magician's field kit, did I not?"

"Yes," said Miss Devereaux.

"And that includes a mortar and pestle, does it not?"

"Yes," said Miss Devereaux again.

"I suppose it is no great matter," Catherine said with a sigh. "We shall have to just chew the leaves oursen." With that, she stripped a few leaves from the bracken and juniper branches on the ground, stuffed them in her mouth, and began to chew. The bitter taste flooded her mouth, and the leaves clung unpleasantly to her palate; it was all she could do to keep herself from gagging. She stared at Miss Devereaux as though daring the lady to mock her, but Miss Devereaux did no such thing. Instead, she slowly plucked a few leaves from the stems at her feet, placed them in her mouth with a grimace at the taste, and chewed.

Catherine was so astonished that she paused. When she came to her senses, she spat out some of her mouthful of leaf paste onto the cairn nearest her. "This is the symbol," she said thickly. She drew the shape of an upside-down triangle whose edges continued past its corners. "Now you try. No, not on this rock, find your own."

Miss Devereaux took a few steps to the next cairn over, spat, and drew the symbol in the leaf paste. Catherine moved to the opposite side and repeated the process as well. They worked their way around the circle thus until they met again on the other side. Catherine looked at Miss Devereaux with her untidy auburn hair and muddy dress, and Miss Devereaux stared back. Catherine knew she must look just as much a spectacle as the lady. Her mouth twitched as the ridiculousness of what they had just done set in; a single giggle slipped through her composure, and then both women broke out in hearty laughter.

"I can't  _ believe _ you," Miss Devereaux gasped after a minute.

"Me?" said Catherine through her laughter. "Hark at you. You was the one as thought you might be poisoned."

"Only because you looked so angry about it all!" Miss Devereaux struggled to regain her composure. She unhooked her waterskin from her saddle and rinsed out her mouth. "I thought you were making yourself sick to spite me."

"Nay, Miss Devereaux, I did not want to spite you." Catherine tilted her head and considered. "Shock you, perhaps."

"I am sorry to say, Miss Redruth, you failed in that regard." Miss Devereaux giggled. "I was not shocked. I suppose I was surprised, but many things you do surprise me."

Catherine retrieved her sandwich from her own saddlebag and sat down in the shade of one of the birches. Miss Devereaux followed suit not long after, and they had a pleasant luncheon together. Catherine was in no hurry to go back, so she pulled out her field notebook and jotted down a few lines describing Avalon and what she had seen there. She tapped her quill against her chin and thought. "What did it promise you?" she asked after a moment. Miss Devereaux looked askance. "The River of the Blessed, when it enchanted you, what did it promise you to make you lose all sense of reason?"

Miss Devereaux turned her head and stared across the gently waving heather. "A pretty new dress, and a castle of my own, and all the jewels I could ever want."

Catherine scoffed. "No, it didn't."

"You do not believe me?" Miss Devereaux glanced at Catherine. She had not bothered to pin up her hair again, and it whipped about her face as the breeze across the moor grew stronger. A sunburn was beginning to form across her nose and cheeks. "That is what you think of me, is it not? That I am shallow and vapid and undeserving of magic. And I suppose the events of today have only reinforced your views."

Catherine didn't answer; Miss Devereaux was right, of course, but it seemed uncharitable of her to say so.

"Why do you hate me so?" said Miss Devereaux a moment later.

"I don't hate you," Catherine said. Miss Devereaux stared at her incredulously. "I don't!"

"Alright then." Miss Devereaux took the last of her hairpins out, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders, nearly to the small of her back. "Why do you belittle me, sneer at me, hold my efforts at magic in contempt, and behave in every other way as though you hate me?"

"I don't do that," said Catherine.

"Yes you do!" Miss Devereaux insisted. "I overheard you tell Mr. Segundus just last week that I burden you with my ignorance. And William Hadley-Bright told me that you and Tom Levy mocked me when I could not cast Belasis's Scopus."

"Why do you care what Tom Levy thinks of you?"

"I do not care what Tom Levy thinks of me, I care what  _ you _ think of me!" Miss Devereaux ran her fingers through her tangled hair and began to plait it. "So tell me, Miss Redruth. What have I ever done that has made me so objectionable in your eyes?"

Catherine looked at the lady sitting beneath the birch tree, sweaty and dusty with her disheveled hair. "You are everything magic should not be," she said.

Miss Devereaux's hands stilled, and she stared at Catherine in disbelief. "I beg your pardon!"

"You are proper and respectable and well-bred," Catherine continued. "In fact, if you were only born a man, you would be the epitome of a Norrellite gentleman magician."

"You do not think magic should be respectable?" said Miss Devereaux. She tied off her braid.

"No," Catherine said. "If it were, then people like mi'sen would not be able to learn it."

"I quite disagree. I think that everyone should be able to learn it, much like everyone should be able to learn their letters and their figures. And through the study of magic, one should be able to raise oneself up to whatever position one may attain." Miss Devereaux crossed her arms. "And that is only possible if magic is a respectable field of study."

Catherine sighed. "You are an idealist, Miss Devereaux. You think the gentlemen would be willing to share magic with the commoners; they are not."

"Perhaps Norrell wasn't. But is not the school at Starecross Hall proof that not all gentlemen hold the same view? You and Tom Levy are both my superiors in all things magical, to say nothing of the way Mr. Segundus speaks of Childermass."

"You've noticed that, have you?" Catherine studied Miss Devereaux's face for any signs of disgust or revulsion but found none. She was quite protective of Mr. Segundus and his inclinations, just as he was protective of hers.

Miss Devereaux blushed under Catherine's regard. "Mr. Segundus seems to have great respect and admiration for the man. I hope to meet him one day."

"I'm sure you shall, before the month is up. I cannot say you will like him, though. He often has an ill manner." Catherine looked away, and Miss Devereaux sighed.

"Miss Redruth, we may be of different minds about the particulars, but can we at least agree that magic should be for those who wish to study it, no matter who they may be?"

"Aye," Catherine said after a moment. "In that, we agree."

Miss Devereaux smiled. "And do you think we could possibly be friends, if I make a great effort to lighten the burden of my ignorance?"

"Your ignorance is no burden. I was wrong to say that." Catherine paused. "Aye, I think we could be friends." She glanced at Miss Devereaux. "If only you're not so proper all the time."

"I'm not very proper now, am I?" said Miss Devereaux with a grin. "In that case, might I call you Catherine, and you might call me Lenora?"

"Aye, Lenora." The name felt strange in Catherine's mouth, but she liked the sound of it.

Lenora stood. "I have one more request to make, Catherine." She offered her hand. "I am tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a bath. Might we head back to Starecross Hall?"

Catherine took Lenora's hand and allowed the lady to pull her to her feet. They retrieved their horses, who had spent the last few hours grazing and seemed quite content to amble about under the afternoon sun. To Catherine's surprise, Lenora laced her fingers together and boosted Catherine into her saddle, then mounted her own horse from the ground. As they rode away across the moor, Catherine thought she could hear Corwin's music spilling forth from Avalon, but she couldn't be sure.


	3. A Trip to York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 1920
> 
> Content warning: very brief mention of self-harm for the purpose of magic

Childermass returned at the height of raspberry season. Mr. Segundus and Catherine stood just outside the garden gate to receive him, and Catherine smiled to see Mr. Segundus in such a bright mood. His face was lit up with happiness, and his hair spun about his head in the midmorning breeze.

"You ought to be more careful, sir," Catherine said as Childermass rode over a hill, Vinculus following close behind. "Your affections are writ 'cross your face plain as day."

Mr. Segundus turned to her in resignation. He didn't bother denying it. "Do the others know?"

"Lenora suspects, but she has raised no objections. The men are clueless, of course." Catherine paused. "Does Childermass know?"

Mr. Segundus looked at her with an unhappy sort of smile. "I don't think so. And I don't think he ever shall. There is too much at stake for me to take that kind of risk."

"Have hope," Catherine said. "And I shall endeavor to find out what he thinks of the matter."

"No, you mustn't ask him!" said Mr. Segundus. "You'll drive him away."

"I shouldn't think he'd mind so much." Catherine tilted her head, considering. "Anyway, I wasn't planning on asking him."

Mr. Segundus looked askance before he realized what she meant. "The cards of Marseilles can be misleading, and you are an amateur yet. I must beg you not to make any decisions based on what the cards tell you of this matter."

Catherine let the subject drop. "We shall have to keep Vinculus and Lenora from spending too much time together."

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm trying to teach her to respect the Raven King proper, which would go much slower if she knew the true state of his book."

Mr. Segundus smiled. "I'm glad to see that you and she are becoming such close friends." Childermass and Vinculus drew near. "Ah— before Vinculus gets here— I have had a commission from a Mrs. Evans, in York. Would you and Miss Devereaux be willing to take care of it this afternoon?"

"Why us?" asked Catherine.

"I believe it needs a woman's touch," said Mr. Segundus. Catherine waited, and he handed her the commission with a sigh.

Catherine had to work quite hard to hold back her laughter as she read the letter. "Yes, best to keep the gentlemen away from this one!"

"I realize it's a rather delicate situation," said Mr. Segundus. "Will you and Miss Deveraux be able to handle it?"

Catherine sighed. "I had wanted to spend the day in the herb garden. The thyme and basil are quarrelling."

"I shall attempt to mediate." Mr. Segundus did not bother to hide his smile. The sound of hoofbeats drew nearer, and his smile broadened as Childermass approached.

"Hello, Mr. Segundus," Childermass said as he dismounted. He handed off Brewer's reins to the groom who had appeared from the stables and tipped his hat. "Hello, Miss Redruth."

Mr. Segundus strode forward and clasped Childermass's hand in his. "Welcome back, Childermass. Do come inside and have some tea. We have a new pupil for you to meet, and Mrs. Price has made the most wonderful raspberry tart."

Childermass allowed himself to be swept inside and settled in the drawing room. Tom Levy had swiped a bottle of claret from the wine cellar, and he and the other young men proved an admirable distraction for Vinculus. Introductions were made over midmorning tea, and Mr. Childermass remarked that Mrs. Price's raspberry tart was indeed wonderful.

"The young ladies may be going to York this afternoon," Mr. Segundus said as tea was cleared away. Lenora caught Catherine's eye and furrowed her brow in an unspoken question, and Catherine gave a minute nod. "Childermass, would you be so kind as to chaperone them?"

"You needn't trouble thissen, Childermass," said Catherine. "Lenora shall be my chaperone, and I shall be hers!"

"I don't believe it works like that," Childermas said wryly. "However, it happens that I myself have some business in York. I would not mind the trip."

"Didn't you pass just outside of York on your way up from Hull?" Catherine asked.

"Aye," said Childermass with a wary look on his face.

"And you did not conduct your business then?"

"I was eager to visit this honorable school." Childermass glanced at Mr. Segundus, whose cheeks grew faintly pink. "Fear not, ladies. My business shall not interfere with your errands."

"Might I be informed as to what, precisely, our errands are?" Lenora asked. Mr. Segundus handed her the commission from the widow. As she read it, she raised first one eyebrow then the other. "I see."

"I am almost afraid to ask," said Childermass. "But may I see this letter?"

"It is not a topic that would interest a gentleman," said Lenora, blushing.

"I am not a gentleman," Childermass said.

"Oh, go on," said Catherine. "If you do not show him, he will only find out another way, and it may be worse for the poor lady if he does."

Lenora handed over the letter, and Childermass did not bother to conceal his mirth as he read it. This set Catherine off as well, and Mr. Segundus looked on reprovingly as they clutched their sides and laughed heartily.

"You mustn't laugh," said Lenora, though she had to hide a smile as well. "She is a commissioner, and I'm sure this is a humiliating situation. It sounds as though poor Mrs. Evans is being tormented by fairies."

"I'm not sure if  _ torment _ is the correct way to describe this lady's situation," Childermass said. He stifled his chuckles, though it appeared to take great effort. "I hope you won't mind if I ride with the coachman. Brewer 's developing a sore knee."

"You must ride with us, Childermass," said Catherine. Childermass looked as though he were about to deny her, but she pressed on before he could speak. "I want to tell you about our recent trip to Faerie."

"That would be a good idea." Childermass fished around in his pockets and pulled out a tobacco pouch and pipe. "Mr. Segundus did not include the interesting details."

"Not in the house!" scolded Mr. Segundus. Childermass sulked but stowed his pipe regardless.

"When are we leaving for York?" Lenora asked.

"I have no idea how long it will take to get this situation—" Catherine snatched the letter from in front of Childermass "—sorted out. Sooner is better than later."

"I shall see that the coach is prepared, then," said Childermass as he made to stand.

"We have a groom and a coachman for that," Mr. Segundus said gently. Some unspoken communication passed between him and Childermass, who sighed and settled back in his seat.

"We should get changed, Catherine," said Lenora.

Catherine glanced down at her dress. "Why?"

"Because we were collecting wildflowers in the moor earlier, and now we are covered in dust," Lenora said with a fond, if exasperated, expression.

"So's everyone in York," muttered Catherine.

"Come on. I have a hat that would look charming with one of your dresses." Lenora pulled a reluctant Catherine to her feet and linked their arms. They made their way up the stairs.

"This is my first commission," said Lenora. "I don't want to meet the lady looking like a vagabond. We have a duty to represent the school in a way that encourages students to come to us to study and commissioners to come to us for assistance."

"You sound like Mr. Segundus," Catherine said.

Lenora smiled. "I believe that is a compliment."

Catherine changed quickly and piled her hair into a neat, if somewhat inelegant, bun. Lenora tutted at her when they met once more and handed her a hat that Catherine had to admit was rather lovely. Catherine gave her a small smile and tied the hat on as they descended the stairs.

"The carriage awaits you, ladies," said Childermass in his gravelly voice. Mr. Segundus saw the three of them through the front gate, and Childermass helped the women into the coach. "We shouldn't be gone long," he said as clambered into the coach. "Expect us in the evening or tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," said Mr. Segundus.

Childermass rapped his knuckles against the roof of the coach, and they set off down the road to York. "Tell me about this visit to Faerie."

"I found a gate last month," said Catherine. "Mr. Segundus suggested I bring Lenora, so I did. We weren't planning on going in more than a few steps, just to see what it was like."

“What happened?” Childermass frowned at the two women. "Why did you go further?"

"It was my fault," Lenora said with a half-shrug. "Catherine only wanted to map the gate, but I thought that I might— well, it seemed reasonable at the time, but I suppose I must have been enchanted."

Catherine nodded. "We met someone there who offered to tell our fortune. I didn't know fairies used the cards of Marseilles."

"He didn't look like a fairy," said Lenora. "Do you suppose he could have been an Englishman?"

"He didn't talk like any Englishman I've ever met."

"And this... person, what did he offer you?" Childermass leaned forward in his seat, his eyes intent upon Lenora's face.

Lenora shifted uncomfortably under his regard. "Only to read my fortune, which he did not do."

"He didn't have time for it, you mean," said Catherine wryly. "Before you tried to throw thissen in the river."

Childermass sat up in alarm. "What's this?"

"I was enchanted," pleaded Lenora.

"By the person you met?"

"No," Catherine said. "I don't think so. He was the one as warned me she was in danger."

"Something else, then." Childermass leaned back in his seat and stared out the window. "What did this place in Faerie look like?"

"There was a forest by a river, and beyond the forest were silver towers flying a black and silver flag." Catherine gestured as she described the landscape. "The man we met— his name was Corwin— said the place was called Avalon, and he referred to the river what Lenora acquainted herself with as the River of the Blessed."

"It would be best if you did not go back to that place," said Childermass after a moment of thought.

"I should have liked to see his cards," Catherine mused. "He called them Tarot."

Childermass frowned slightly. "An uncommon name indeed, though not an incorrect one."

They rode in silence for some miles, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"Would you tell my fortune?" Lenora asked as York came into sight. "I have never had it done."

"Me?" said Catherine, surprised. "Childermass is the better reader."

"All the more reason for you to practice." Childermass waved his hand. "Go on. I'd like to see your progress."

Catherine felt slightly self-conscious as she pulled her deck of cards from her small satchel at her wrist and moved to the other side of the coach to sit by Childermass. "It is best done facing each other," she said by way of explanation. "There's no room for a full spread."

"Five cards," Childermass advised. "We would not want to reveal more about the lady than she is willing to tell us."

"What could Lenora have to hide?" scoffed Catherine. She received no answer, and an uncomfortable silence persisted for a few moments as she shuffled her cards and laid five out on the bench beside Lenora. She turned the first one over. "Five of coins. In the past, you were in a difficult situation. You experienced some sort of hardship, likely financial, which this card—" she turned over the eight of swords "—tells me you felt trapped in. You had a way out of your hardship, but it wasn't an option you wanted to take." She glanced at Lenora's face, but the lady's countenance had a studied sort of blankness to it. Catherine turned over the next card. "The Chariot. You're ready to free thissen from your unfortunate situation. Now, for your future—" Catherine flipped the next two cards over in quick succession and smiled. "You have a bright future, Lenora. New possibilities open up for you. The ace of cups indicates beginnings and growth, or possibly some sort of offer that may remove your hardships. And the page of wands shows that you shall be ambitious and driven during this new beginning. You shall enjoy your successes and take defeats in stride." She turned to Childermass. "How did I do?"

"Mm." Childermass nodded. "I might interpret the page of wands differently." He did not elaborate.

Lenora had an odd expression on her face. She looked as though she wasn't sure whether to smile or look despairing, so she did a bit of both. "I must say, it's not entirely what I expected. Though I'm not sure what I did expect."

"It was a good spread," Catherine assured her. "Or at least it wasn't such a bad one."

Lenora composed herself. "Thank you for reading my cards. I’m sorry, but I do not wish to speak of it any further. Let us put the matter behind us.” She took a deep breath. “What shall we do about Mrs. Evans? I am not sure how a magician carries out commissions."

Catherine pulled the letter from her satchel and studied it. "We shall have to interview her. I think your hunch was correct," she said. "Most likely, this is the work a fairy, or several. It’s not the only possibility, however. Perhaps some magician is trying to woo her."

"Is that how magicians usually woo their sweethearts?" Lenora leaned over to reread the letter as well.

"Why?" asked Catherine. "Do you have a sweetheart you want to woo?" Lenora blushed and didn't answer, and Catherine was put rather out of temper. Childermass filled and lit his pipe, and the carriage was silent until they arrived at Mrs. Evans's home.

"This is where I leave you, ladies," Childermass said as he helped Catherine and Lenora from the carriage. "I must attend to my own business, but we should take supper together." He paused. "Will you require a room at the inn? Better to arrange it now."

"I'd rather be back at the house tonight," said Catherine. "Even if we arrive rather late."

Childermass scratched his chin. "Very well, then. We shall take an early supper at the Old Starre Inn and be on our way as soon as it's done." He tipped his hat to them both and sauntered down the street. Catherine stepped forward to knock on the widow's door, and a maid led them to a small, tidy drawing room. A pair of empty bookshelves stood in a far corner, and all the paintings had been turned around to face the wall.

A young woman in a handsome lavender dress entered, and Catherine was struck by her beauty. She had strong features and clear, intelligent eyes, and a merry smile hovered around the corners of her mouth, even when her face was at rest. Her hair was a pleasing sort of ash-blonde color, and she was very nearly as tall as Lenora. "You're the magicians?"

"Yes. We're here about the..." Catherine cleared her throat. "Amorous household items."

"Oh, thank God you're both ladies," said Mrs. Evans. "I could not look into a gentleman's eyes and describe the problems I've been facing." She had a bold air about her; Catherine had no doubt that she'd have little trouble describing her problems to gentlemen.

"Might we examine some of these items?" Lenora asked. Mrs. Evans nodded and gestured to one of the paintings on the wall. Lenora lifted one side with trepidation and peered into the gap. "Oh!" She moved to the next painting on the wall, peeked at it, and let it fall back into position. "Are they all like that?" Mrs. Evans nodded.

"Like what?" asked Catherine. Lenora made the same gesture as Mrs. Evans had, and Catherine flipped a painting around and stepped back to consider it. It depicted two people engaged in a lover's embrace; the woman looked very much like Mrs. Evans, and the man had a wild, fey look about him. "I take it this was not the painting you chose to hang upon your wall?"

"Certainly not!" Mrs. Evans said.

"And this man in the painting; is he the late Mr. Evans?"

Mrs. Evans shook her head. "The paintings aren't even the worst of it. Let me show you the books." She led the two magicians through the house and up the stairs.

As they stepped into the attic hallway, Catherine began to hear a faint susurrus coming from beyond the door at the end of the passage. The noise grew more insistent, as though whatever made it had sensed their presence. Mrs. Evans pushed open the door to reveal a room full of wooden crates, and the indistinct noise resolved itself into dozens of overlapping voices in all manner of tones. Catherine couldn't follow a single voice for more than a few words, but the little she could hear made her blush. She lifted the lid off the nearest crate; the inside was stuffed with linens, blankets, pillows, and other soft things, and in the center of all the padding were several books. Their covers bore scenes that resembled the paintings downstairs, and when Catherine flicked through the pages, she found colorful descriptions of all manner of erotic acts. "This does not seem to be magic of a Christian sort," said Catherine.

Mrs. Evans gave a single huff of laughter. "I should think not."

"It seems, madam, you have a fairy suitor. I expect this is all an attempt to convince you he would be an attentive and pleasing lover."

"Oh." Mrs. Evans seemed to consider the possibility for a moment, then gave a dismissive shake of her head. "How do we make it stop?"

"Fairies aren't often used to not getting what they want," Catherine said. "We shall have to treat this situation with delicacy. Can you think of any reason the fairy might be put off from you? Any small trait that could cool his affections?"

Mrs. Evans thought for a few moments. "I could tell him that my heart belongs to another."

"That will only make him try harder to win your interest," said Lenora. Catherine and Mrs. Evans looked at her in surprise, and she shrugged. "I have had to rebuff my fair share of suitors. Fairies and young men are not so different. Their attentions are fickle, easily formed and easily broken, but inflamed when one believes he stands at the beginning of a chase."

"She's right," Catherine said to Mrs. Evans. "The danger lies in insulting his pride. He must think you're not worthy of his desire, so he will withdraw it and leave you alone."

"What if he thought I were ugly?" Mrs. Evans looked from one magician to the other. "You could cast such an illusion, could you not?"

"He may be suspicious if your face changes so suddenly," said Catherine.

"What if she were to say that she was overcome with grief, and it twisted her features?" Lenora suggested. "That sounds appropriately poetic for a fairy."

Catherine nodded slowly. "That could work. I have an idea about how it may be done. We shall have to desecrate evening primrose and maidenhair fern. Do we have those with us?"

"Yes, in the coach. I'll fetch the kit," said Lenora. Mrs. Evans summoned a maid, who showed Lenora out of the attic and down to the street.

"How does one desecrate evening primrose and maidenhead fern?" Mrs. Evans asked while she and Catherine waited.

"It's an unpleasant process," said Catherine. "You may wish to leave the room until it's complete. However, I apologize; I shall have to make a paste of the herbs and apply it to your person."

"If you must bear this unpleasantness, then so shall I," Mrs. Evans said. "I am the one who commissioned you, after all. It would not do if I could not face what I ask of you."

Catherine nodded, and Lenora reappeared a moment later, kit in hand. "Perhaps we could move to the drawing room," said Lenora, and the others agreed.

"We shall need water and bandages," Catherine instructed the maid once they reached the drawing room. While the maid fetched these items, Catherine crushed the dried primrose petals and fern leaves using the mortar and pestle that Lenora handed to her with a wry smile. Once the water and bandages were near at hand, Catherine sliced open her wrist with a very sharp knife and allowed several rivulets of blood to drip into the mortar. She winced in pain, and Lenora pulled out the small, square cross that she kept on her person. "No," Catherine said as she bound her wrist. "Not yet, or the blood will flow back into my body."

Lenora nodded and mixed Catherine's blood with the herbs, forming a thick paste. A chill stole over the room, and the shadows grew darker. The weather outside the room was pleasantly typical of a July afternoon in Yorkshire, but the effect of the magic was such that any of the three women in the room would have sworn it was a sinister midnight. Mrs. Evans shivered but allowed Lenora to anoint her forehead, throat, and hands with the paste. Catherine could tell when the spell took effect; Mrs. Evans's beauty seemed to sour, though no physical change took place. Her hair looked washed-out and limp rather than striking, and her once-proud features now seemed to crowd her face. Her smile was no longer merry but twisted, and her eyes appeared glassy and dull instead of bright.

"Is it working?" Mrs. Evans's voice, once a pleasant alto, now grated on Catherine's ears.

Catherine nodded. "You should call him to you," she said. "If we summon him by magic, he may be suspicious."

Mrs. Evans waited until Lenora packed away the kit, then moved to the center of the drawing room while the two magicians took seats on the edge of the room. "Good evening, my dear gentleman," she began. "I had hoped we might talk about the recent attentions you have visited upon me."

The air in the room took on a fresh, tree-like quality, as though it had been sitting outside in a forest for several hours and just now found itself inside Mrs. Evans's home. A gentleman with a coat of woodsmoke and embers stood in the corner as if he had always been there, even though Catherine could quite distinctly remember a time when he had not. "The most pleasant of evenings to you, dear Elizabeth." He sketched an elaborate bow that reminded Catherine of the wind that blew through bare tree branches in late autumn. His voice sounded like the first chill of frost. "I am so delighted to hear that you have finally..." He peered at Mrs. Evans's face. "Oh. Elizabeth, that cannot be you, can it? Can it possibly be you, whose countenance was once so charming, so elegant?"

"It is indeed me, sir," said Mrs. Evans. "When you first came to me, I was in a state of bereavement. I realize now that I sank too far into grief and couldn't appreciate what you offered." She reached for his hand, but he recoiled. "Please, sir, won't you kiss me?"

The fairy looked nervous. "Perhaps... not at this time, madam. Perhaps I was too hasty in my pursuit. I fear we may be ill-suited for one another."

Mrs. Evans nodded sadly, the very picture of a grieving widow. "I understand. Such a gentleman you are, for being so thoughtful. Might you at least leave me with the lovely pictures and books, so I may remember our time together and look forward to our happy future?"

"I wouldn't want to disrupt you from your state of mourning, madam!" The fairy grew agitated. "I shall put your house to rights before I take my leave. Please consider it a token of my regard for your... ahem. Your beauty." He vanished like dew beneath the sun, and Lenora peeked at one of the paintings.

"A lovely seascape," she declared with a broad smile.

Mrs. Evans clasped her hands together in delight. "What a useful spell," she declared. "I wish I could save some of the paste for use at a future time! How is it undone?"

Catherine wetted a spare bandage and wiped away the herb paste, and Mrs. Evans was beautiful once again. She sent a maid to fetch the money she owed the magicians for the successful commission and promised to tell her friends about the skill and discretion with which they had handled her situation. "Only if that's agreeable to you, of course," Mrs. Evans added. Catherine assured her that it was.

Lenora cast Pale's Restoration and Rectification before they took their leave. Her magic felt like birdsongs over the moor on a misty spring morning, just as the sun rises. Catherine had never felt its full effect until now; it made her head spin.  _ Was this how Childermass and Mr. Segundus felt all the time? _ she wondered woozily as the coachman helped her into the carriage.

Later that afternoon, in the Old Starre Inn, Childermass took one look at Catherine and grumbled, "You've been doing blood magic again."

"No," said Catherine as she procured a table. "I've been doing herbal magic."

"It's not herbal magic if it involves blood."

"It's not blood magic if it involves herbs."

Childermass groaned. "Impossible woman. I'll get us supper."

"It  _ was _ blood magic, though, wasn’t it?" Lenora asked as Childermass waited at the counter for their food.

"Yes," Catherine admitted. "Well, it was a bit of both. A practical magician's blood has many uses. Take care you do not spill it lightly."

"Take care you do not spill it at all." Childermass had returned with three bowls of stew, a loaf of bread, and a mug of ale for himself. "Blood magic is dangerous, and this one—" he glared at Catherine "—should not be teaching it to you."

"Is it forbidden?" asked Lenora. She tore off a hunk of bread and dipped it in her stew.

Childermass took a long draught of ale before he answered. "Not forbidden. As if that would stop the lot of you. But it's dangerous and unpredictable."

Catherine dug into her food with enthusiasm; magic always made her ravenously hungry. Lenora seemed to share her appetite, and Childermass watched them with a lopsided smile.

After supper, they clambered into the coach once more. "How was your business?" Lenora asked once they were settled.

"Fruitful," Childermass said after a moment of consideration.

"May we know what it is?" said Catherine.

"You shall, in time."

Lenora pressed him for details, but Childermass refused to say any more on the matter.

They arrived at Starecross Hall late that night. The servants had all gone to bed, and the hall was lit only by moonlight and one flickering lamp in the library. Childermass had a small, fond smile on his face as he pushed open the door. Catherine knew the smile was not for her to see. She stole a bottle of sherry and two cut-crystal glasses from the kitchens under Lenora's scandalized gaze. "Come on," she whispered. "We have to have some of the good stuff before Vinculus drinks it all."

Lenora laughed then and allowed herself to be led up the stairs and into darkness.


	4. The Healing Grove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1820

Blackberry season was Catherine's favorite time of the year. She was quite proud of her blackberry bushes; they produced an abundant crop, and the jam Mrs. Price made of them was widely praised. Catherine and Lenora spent a great deal of time each morning picking berries. Their hands would be stained red for the rest of the day; Mr. Segundus scolded them several times for leaving fingerprints on his carefully-maintained books. Childermass refused to assist with the collection of the berries, but he certainly helped with the consumption of them. Mr. Honeyfoot visited Starecross Hall for several days in the middle of August, regaling the residents with tales of his grandchildren. Mr. Segundus got a wistful look about him during those stories, but Catherine didn't think anyone else noticed.

"My dear Mr. Honeyfoot," said Mr. Segundus during the last day of the older gentleman's visit. He, Mr. Honeyfoot, and Catherine sat around a table in the drawing room in the early evening; Childermass was in the library teaching Lenora how to use Doncaster squares. "Forgive me, but I noticed you no longer have a limp in your left leg. Did the last doctor fix the problem?"

"Indeed not," Mr. Honeyfoot said with a laugh. "The old fool was worse than useless; tried to get me to buy a poultice of cabbage and buckwheat to put on my knee twice a day." Catherine scoffed at this. "No," he continued. "I visited that healing grove just outside of Ripon."

Mr. Segundus furrowed his brow. "What healing grove?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" Mr. Honeyfoot looked astonished. "How odd. I suppose because it is no great evil. After all, what soldier would complain if his wounds were mended? What housewife would protest if her arthritis were to disappear?"

"No, it doesn't seem to be any wicked being," Mr. Segundus mused. "Still, I must wonder if these people are paying a price they're unaware of."

"It's certainly something to keep in mind." Mr. Honeyfoot helped himself to another glass of sherry and topped off Catherine and Mr. Segundus's drinks. "Now, Miss Redruth. Mr. Segundus writes to me with a great deal of pride about your garden. My eldest daughter has just moved into a charming estate in the country, and she wants to start a vegetable garden to occupy her time. Do you have any advice I could pass on?"

They spent a pleasant evening drinking sherry and talking of magic and gardening and other subjects which had become commonplace in their lives. Mr. Honeyfoot was the first to retire, claiming that he needed a great deal of rest before a day of travel. Catherine and Mr. Segundus sat in companionable silence for some time.

"I'd thought to go into Ripon this week," said Catherine. "A new magical store has sprung up, and it looks more promising than the last. I could look in on this healing grove along the way."

"That would be kind of you," Mr. Segundus said after a moment of consideration. "Will you take one of the gentlemen with you?"

"I might take Lenora, actually." Mr. Segundus smiled at her knowingly. "It's nothing like that," Catherine insisted. "Tom told me the men will be copying down passages from Vinculus tomorrow, and Childermass won't let us anywhere near."

"For good reason," said Mr. Segundus. "Vinculus is vile."

"You'll have no argument from me there." Catherine poured herself some more sherry, ignoring Mr. Segundus's look of disapproval. "Besides, Lenora has a talent for healing magic. Have you noticed?" Mr. Segundus nodded, and she continued. "She might be able to determine the source better than I."

Childermass entered the drawing room then, Lenora just behind. He looked unsteady on his feet, and he dropped into Mr. Honeyfoot's vacated armchair with a sigh of relief. "Are you quite alright?" Mr. Segundus asked.

Childermass poured himself a glass of sherry and downed half of it before answering. "Fine," he said, his voice rough. "Just... magic." He waved his hand in a vague motion and poured himself more sherry.

"Yes, I felt it from here," said Mr. Segundus quietly. Indeed, Catherine had noticed throughout the evening that his eyes would occasionally take on a glassy look, and he'd drift in his seat as though he were carried by a slow-moving ocean current.

Lenora looked stricken. "I'm sorry to cause you such discomfort."

"It's not your fault at all, Miss Devereaux," Mr. Segundus said. "Doncaster squares are a vital area of magic for a magician of your age to master. They can be quite useful for ritual magic, which Mr. Hadley-Bright and Mr. Purfois are making especial study of."

"You've made a great deal of progress," said Childermass. "Miss Deveraux, you are a credit to your teachers."

Mr. Segundus brushed off the compliment. "Miss Redruth has contributed the most to her instruction. I have done very little except given her books to read."

"You are too modest, Mr. Segundus," Catherine said. "You shouldn't devalue your contributions so. Should he, Childermass?"

"Indeed not." Childermass watched Mr. Segundus over the rim of his sherry glass, his eyes very dark in the dim lamplight. Mr. Segundus blushed slightly, and he seemed caught under Childermass's regard, as though he couldn't look away.

Lenora's eyes flickered between the two for a moment before she turned to Catherine. "Do you still have that book I wanted to borrow?"

"What book?" Catherine frowned.

"You know the one." Lenora stood. "I can't recall the title, but you said it was in the library."

"I don't remember this conversation."

"Please, Catherine. I'm really very interested in reading it." She hauled an unwilling Catherine to her feet. "Perhaps seeing it in the library will jog your mind. Come on, you can finish your sherry there while we search for it."

They made their way to the library, Catherine slightly unsteady on her feet. "What was that all about?" she asked as they crossed the hallway.

"Honestly, Catherine, you are so blunt," Lenora said. She pushed open the door to the library, and they stepped in. "I think sometimes you'd have no idea what to do should anyone ever refuse to express their thoughts directly."

"You're likely right," said Catherine. She idly wandered along the bookshelves that surrounded the room. "However, it does force people to speak their minds to me plain, which I count as a point in my favor." She frowned. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"They obviously wanted to be alone."

"Yes, obviously," Catherine said. "But it's fun to tease them a bit first."

Lenora laughed helplessly. "You are a rogue!"

Catherine laughed for a few moments then sobered. "You do not find it... reprehensible?" she asked with some trepidation.

"Not at all," said Lenora. She brushed a reddish curl out of her face. "I— this may sound terribly… well,  _ rigid _ … to you, but I might have, at one point. But when I discovered my talent for magic, it set me upon a path that forced me to re-evaluate many of the things I thought I knew. I do not believe the same things I once did, and I do not agree with some of the King's laws." She took a deep breath. "I know it is rather traitorous to say—"

"You are in the North now, Lenora," Catherine interrupted. "And the Raven King has different laws."

Lenora did not look especially comforted by this declaration.

Catherine was beginning to feel the effects of slightly too much sherry consumed over a not-quite-long-enough span of time. After a few more minutes of browsing, she pulled several books from their shelves, carted them to her room, and promptly fell asleep without reading a single word within them.

The house had an early breakfast the next morning, and Catherine resented it. Mr. Honeyfoot trundled away in his coach not long after, laden with jam and baked goods and gardening advice. "When were you planning on going into Ripon?" Mr. Segundus asked as they watched Mr. Honeyfoot's vehicle disappear into the mist that still clung to the valleys and hollows.

Catherine groaned. "After morning tea, please. Is the carriage still broken?"

"It won't be repaired 'til next week," said Mr. Segundus. "I'll see that the horses are ready. I hope you don’t mind."

"Not at all," Catherine said. "I can't wait to be out in the sun and the heat on a horse that jostles me with every step."

"Perhaps you should moderate yourself next time. The gentlemen are a bad influence on you."

"What a surprise," said Catherine. "I would have thought I'd be the bad influence on them."

Mr. Segundus laughed. "No, we have Childermass to rely on for that."

"Oh, we're relying on Childermass now, are we?" Catherine glanced at Mr. Segundus, who avoided her gaze. "And what influence might Childermass have on you?"

Mr. Segundus did not answer for a few moments. "You know perfectly well. Don't make me say it."

"So long as you know it thissen, I shall not." Catherine laid her hand upon his forearm, a rare show of familiarity. "We must not hate ourselves for the way we are, sir. The world does that enough for us."

Mr. Segundus rested his hand lightly upon hers, and they stood that way until the sun burned the mists off the moor, and it was time for the day to begin.

Lenora was quite eager to visit the healing grove and Ripon both, once Catherine explained the situation. They worked in the garden until morning tea, then rode off on the path to Ripon with lunch and magical tools in their saddlebags. Catherine felt quite a bit better by this point, and she enjoyed speculating about the nature of the healing grove with Lenora while they rode.

"A fairy, perhaps?" Lenora suggested.

Catherine considered for a moment. "Maybe, but I think not. Fairies like mischief, and this seems benign."

"Maybe a healing spirit." Lenora paused. "Do healing spirits exist?"

"Yes, but they tend to inhabit great churches or shrines to saints, not a grove of trees outside Ripon."

"Well, what do you suggest, then?" Lenora sounded disgruntled. "A magician?"

"I doubt it's a magician," Catherine said. She paused to adjust her hat. "Why heal people anonymously, and for free?"

"Perhaps the magician simply wanted to do a good deed."

"You're so quick to believe the best of others." Catherine looked over at her. "It'll get you hurt someday."

"It already has," said Lenora. Catherine watched her, waiting, but she shook her head. "I don't want to speak of it at this time. But don't treat me like a naive child who must be protected."

"I don't," Catherine said, affronted. Lenora didn't speak or look at her for over an hour, and Catherine couldn't tell if the lady was angry or simply pensive. The only sounds were birdcalls over the moor and the quiet clip-clop of their horses' hooves on the road.

"I think we should ride on to Ripon first," said Lenora as they took their luncheon in the shade of an oak tree beside the road.

Catherine nodded and swallowed her bite of sandwich. "Yes, it shouldn't take long to visit the store. And we can ask for directions to the grove." Their short conversation was somehow an apology and a forgiveness, but Catherine wasn't sure who was apologizing and who forgiving.

The magical store wasn't hard to find; it had a brightly-painted sign and an impressive window display. Catherine entered with some trepidation, remembering the previous magical stores she had been in with their intentionally-cultivated air of mystery and faux eerieness. This store seemed clean and well-lit, though. It could almost be a grocery or a publishing house. One wall was lined with jars of powders and dried herbs in bundles; another wall held delicate even-armed crosses, knives of every size and metal, bowls and basins, ribbons and roots, and every other tool a magician might need in the practice of magic. Catherine found herself drawn to the herbs and powders as though enchanted, and she scanned the neatly-labeled rows with excitement.

A well-dressed young man approached Lenora. "Welcome to Fargate and Flynn's, madam. May I assist you in finding what you're looking for?"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," said Lenora. "I had not thought we'd be buying anything on this trip." She glanced at Catherine. "Though, whether or not that will be the case remains to be seen. Catherine, do you see anything you need?"

Catherine waved her off. "No, we have most of this at the house." She returned to Lenora's side. "The herbs seem well-grown and well-kept."

The young man sketched a quick bow. "I shall let the owners know you think so, madam."

"This seems like a magical business of good repute." Catherine gazed around the walls. "No nonsense, practical tools, a good selection of useful herbs. We're students at Starecross Academy of Magic. Do you know it?"

"I have heard of it, madam. They say it's an admirable place of learning."

Catherine nodded. "I shall bring the schoolmaster here sometime. If he likes what he sees— and I have little doubt he will— we may become frequent patrons here."

The young man bowed again. "You are very kind, ladies."

"Ah, before we go," said Lenora with a charming smile. "We have heard rumors of a healing grove outside the boundary of the city. Could you possibly give us directions?"

The young shop clerk looked worried. "You're not going to banish it or drive it away or owt like that, are you?"

"Not at all," Lenora assured him. "Well, maybe, if it's an evil fairy performing these feats. But for now, we just want to investigate and make sure that everything is quite as it seems."

"That's alright, then." The clerk gave very thorough directions; Catherine suspected he had visited the grove himself. In thanks, Catherine purchased one of the small crosses from the wall of magical tools.

"What?" she said when Lenora gave her a look. "Mine's bent."

The grove was only about a mile from the outskirts of town. Catherine remembered seeing the trees in the distance as they approached Ripon, but they had been too far away to get a good look at. Now, though, Catherine could see a small copse of apple trees arranged in a perfect circle around a small, very clear pond, their branches heavy with immature apples. They were not the only visitors to the grove; coaches and horses had worn small paths in the moor-grass, and townsfolk milled around in disorderly queues, each waiting their turn to be healed.

"Should we clear them out?" Lenora asked.

"Not yet," Catherine decided. "Let's watch for a bit. Do we have the tools for Scopus?"

Lenora nodded and poured some water from her saddlebag into a carefully-wrapped drinking glass. She muttered the incantation, and a pearl of white light formed at the bottom of the glass.

"Very good," murmured Catherine. She peered through the glass and made a noise of dissatisfaction. "Come, let's try it from different angles. Perhaps we'll find a magician concealed in the shadows of the trees, or some gate to Faerie through which the magic has slipped." They did so, but even after an hour of casting, all Catherine had been able to determine was that magic indeed emanated from the grove of apple trees. "Which we knew already," she complained.

"Perhaps it has something to do with the water," said Lenora. "The people bathe themselves in it and splash about, yet it never runs dry."

Catherine nodded and shoved her way to the front of a queue. The townsfolk complained, but she informed them sternly that she was a magician of Starecross Academy on a mission to investigate a wicked fairy who lived in the grove, and if the townsfolk knew what was good for them, they'd clear out. This they did, with many grumbles and dirty looks, but Catherine ignored them all and focused on the water. She cast spell after spell trying to determine if the water had any magical properties, even going so far as to slice open her own finger and dip it in the water to see if the wound would heal, but all to no avail.

Lenora, in the meantime, leaned against a tree and enjoyed Catherine's increasing vexation. A boy from a nearby farm, shirking his chores if his abandoned pitchfork and pail were anything to go by, was making friends with her horse nearby. She watched them out of the corner of her eye. After a few minutes, he came up to her and gave her a clumsy bow.

"Might I give your 'orse an apple?" he asked shyly.

"Of course," said Lenora, and she watched as he scaled the nearest apple tree with all the skill of a youth spent in the English countryside and fetched down the ripest apple he could find. It was still early for apples, but Lenora supposed her horse wouldn't mind. The boy held his hand out flat, the apple balanced in the center of his palm, and Lenora's mare ate it in two big chomps. She nuzzled her nose along the boy's hand as though asking for more, and the boy laughed.

"Make yourself useful, Lenora," Catherine said. "Fetch me the—" Lenora never learned what Catherine wanted her to fetch.

An inhuman scream split the air, and Lenora's mare took off at a bolt, leaving a bloody trail from a gash on her flank.

"It wasn't me," the boy begged, tears of shock on his face. "I didn't 'urt your 'orse, I swear!"

Lenora ignored him and mounted Catherine's horse. Catherine cried out in indignation, but Lenora ignored her too as she spurred the horse on after her fleeing mare. She caught up after just a few minutes of hard riding and dismounted to approach her mare on foot. She was an easily-spooked thing, and this wasn't the first time Lenora had had to chase her across an English moor. Lenora murmured to her horse and was eventually allowed to approach. The wound on the mare's flank streamed blood, and her eyes rolled in pain and fear. Lenora winced. She cast Restoration and Rectification, stumbling over a few words in her haste, but the spell worked nonetheless. The mare shied away when Lenora ran her hands over her flank to make sure the wound was quite closed. No traces of blood were left.

A few minutes later, Lenora returned deep in thought to an indignant Catherine, riding Catherine's horse and leading her own mare by the reins. She dismounted rather clumsily. "Where's the boy?" she said.

"I'm 'ere, miss," said the boy. He looked terrified. "Please don't 'urt me or turn me into summat unnatural."

"I won't," Lenora promised. "Can you fetch me another couple of apples? Two or three, if you please."

The boy nodded and scaled the tree. He tossed down several apples, and Lenora caught them and passed one to Catherine.

"It's not ripe," Catherine said.

"You, boy," said Lenora. "You work on the farm just beyond that hill, don't you?" The boy nodded. "You see a lot of what happens here, then?" The boy nodded again. "Did anyone with a long, shallow wound on their shoulder come here to seek healing?"

"Old Farmer Matheson," said the boy. "'E 'ad an accident with 'is carriage."

"Cut open your apple," Lenora said to Catherine. "Use a knife, don't eat it." Lenora did the same to one of the apples she still held. "What's inside?"

Catherine tilted the apple to show her. "Pneumonia, I think."

Lenora nodded and showed Catherine her own apple. "And here is a broken rib."

Catherine gazed at the grove in amazement. "All the injuries... inside the apples. Incredible."

"And dangerous," Lenora added. "What do we do?"

"We should talk to Mr. Segundus." Catherine thought for a few moments. "He'll want to write to the Ripon officials, I'm sure. Let's take him a few apples." She pulled a handful of coins out of the small satchel at her wrist and handed them to the boy. He stared at the coins wide-eyed; Catherine was sure that it was more money than he had ever seen in his life. "Pick the ripest apples every day. Don't let any man or beast eat them, and don't tell anyone what they contain."

"Why?" the boy asked, still staring at the money.

Catherine crouched down next to him and caught his eye. "Because people might use the apples to hurt each other." The boy nodded solemnly, wide-eyed. "Get back to work," Catherine said, and he scampered away.

"You've given him a heavy responsibility," said Lenora as she watched the boy disappear behind a hill.

"It's only for a few days." Catherine mounted her horse. "Can you ride your mare, or do you want to double with me?"

Lenora's mare had settled down, and she allowed Lenora to mount without much trouble. As they rode, they discussed various ways of dealing with the grove. Lenora refused to allow it to be cut down, but Catherine insisted that it was too dangerous to be left alone. They were well on their way to Starecross, just past the oak tree underneath which they had had their luncheon earlier that day, when the sky began to darken with rainclouds. "I'm sure it's fine," Catherine said when she caught sight of Lenora's look. "We'll be back to the house in no time." The first drops of rain fell, and the drizzle escalated to a downpour in a matter of seconds. "Damn Yorkshire summers!"

"Let's go back to the tree." Lenora had to raise her voice to be heard over the increasingly loud patter of rain.

"Why?" Catherine asked, wiping impatiently at her eyes.

Lenora wheeled her horse around. "I saw a spell in a periodical last year. Something called the Witch's Hut. It makes a tree into a shelter, of a sort."

"What sort of shelter?" Catherine called after the lady, but she was too far away to hear. Catherine grumbled and followed Lenora back to the oak tree. Lenora had already dismounted when Catherine caught up, and she was chanting under her breath. As she finished the spell, the tree seemed to tremble from root to leaf, showering Catherine with a fresh deluge of water.

Lenora stepped forward under the branches. "It worked!" Her face was lit up with the delight of magic, a delight Catherine knew well and was glad to see in her pupil. They led their horses under the branches and sluiced the water off as best they could.

Catherine undid the buttons that held her dress together and stepped out of it before hanging it from a low branch. She pulled off her boots and stockings, leaving herself in only her chemise, which clung damply to her body. She shivered despite the August heat. "It's too bad we have no wood for a fire," she said. "But maybe I can manage a small wind spell, not enough to disrupt the weather patterns, of course, but it would dry our clothes..." She trailed off when she caught sight of Lenora staring at her, a blush rising on the lady's cheeks. "What?"

"You... um. You took your dress off." Lenora blushed even harder.

"Yes," Catherine said. "It's wet. Are you going to just stand there with your wet things on?"

"I suppose not." Lenora didn't move to take off her dress.

"Do you need help?" Catherine asked impatiently. "Come on. I want to try a spell."

Lenora unbuttoned her dress with shaking hands and stepped out of it. She hung the gown on the branch beside Catherine's own without making eye contact, then unlaced her shoes and stripped off her stockings. Catherine couldn't help but watch the lady's long limbs in this unfamiliar state of undress. Lenora had a pleasing figure; Catherine had known that since they had met, but now the fact seemed more real, less deniable. Catherine also knew that she must deny herself the things she wanted, even though— her breath hitched— oh, she  _ wanted.  _ She had wanted for quite some time, she realized, though she had never allowed herself to face it so directly. That road led only to heartbreak and misery. Lenora's magic swirled around her,  _ inside _ her, and Catherine clutched her head.

"Catherine?" Lenora's voice sounded very far away. "Catherine, are you well? Sit down, won't you?"

"It's your magic," Catherine heard herself say. "Being under the tree... it's affecting me like it does Mr. Segundus." She almost collapsed, but Lenora got a shoulder under her and set her down against the bole of the oak. "I can't cast like this. You must do the spell. No, don't worry, I'll instruct you."

"You're very good at instructing me," Lenora said with a small smile. "Alright, what do I do?" Under Catherine's direction, Lenora created a small breeze that played about their gowns, whipping them to and fro on the branch. Lenora even stripped off her petticoat, leaving herself in only her chemise, and Catherine had to try very hard not to stare at the swell of Lenora's breasts pressing against the thin fabric. To occupy her mind and her eyes, Catherine plucked several strands of heather and moor-grass and began braiding them into a thin plait. She added what flowers she could find to her braid, and by the time it was long enough to form into a circlet, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle.

Lenora checked their dresses. "They're damp, but better than they were," she said as she dressed. "We should hurry back."

Catherine agreed, but privately she was loath to leave this little haven under the oak tree, where she could feel Lenora's magic like the sunrise on her skin. "For you," she said after she dressed. She laid the braided circlet of heather and wildflowers over Lenora's riding hat and straightened it, avoiding the lady's astonished eyes.

"Whatever for?" Lenora asked. She touched the circlet gently.

Catherine shrugged. "Seems as good a use as any."

"Oh." Lenora paused beside her horse. "Well. How do I look?"

"Lovely," Catherine said, and her heart ached.

The road was waterlogged and muddy, and they made slow progress back to Starecross. Once the hall was in sight, though, Catherine found that she didn't want the day to end. She wasn't quite ready to put the journey behind her, for once she did, the memory of Lenora beneath the oak tree, wet with rain and alight with magic, would begin to fade. The grooms stabled their tired horses once they arrived at the house, and Lenora instructed them to keep a close eye on her mare's flank. They stood in the hall while a maid fetched cloths to dry with; while she waited, Catherine pulled off her wet shoes and stockings. Childermass appeared in the hall a minute later, his arms filled with towels and Mr. Segundus just behind him.

Mr. Segundus took one look at Catherine and an expression of immense sympathy crossed his face. Catherine knew that he had guessed at the events of the day as soon as he saw her, and she had little doubt that his guesses would be the correct ones. Some unspoken communication passed between him and Childermass. "Go dry off," Mr. Segundus said. "Supper can wait."

"And come to the library after," Childermass said to Lenora. "You need more practice with Doncaster squares."

Mr. Segundus waited a few minutes for Catherine to change out of her wet clothes before knocking on the door to her room. "You can come in," she called.

Mr. Segundus pushed open the door. "Oh, Catherine," he said, his voice gentle. "Poor dear."

Catherine let out a broken sort of sob and flung herself into his arms. He held her tightly, uncaring of her wet hair against his jacket. Tears streamed down Catherine's face, and her back shook with silent sobs.

"There, there," said Mr. Segundus after a few minutes as Catherine gathered her composure. He wiped a few stray tears from her cheek. "You must put on a very brave face now, Catherine."

Catherine nodded. "Is this how you feel all the time? How do you bear it?" A fresh stream of tears spilled from her eyes, and she wiped at them angrily.

"It gets easier with time," Mr. Segundus said. "And with hope, though that can make it worse as well."

"I hate this," said Catherine. She knotted her fingers in the roots of her hair and tugged until it hurt. "I wish I were normal."

Mr. Segundus pulled her back against his chest and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I know. But you must not hate yourself, my dear. The world does that enough for you."

Catherine laughed to hear her own words quoted back at her, and Mr. Segundus smiled.

"That's better," he said. "Why don't you have dinner here in your room? I'll say you've caught a fever and need to rest."

"Yes, please," Catherine said, and she allowed him to tuck her into bed like a child. Later that night, as she lay in the dark and gazed up at her canopy, she allowed herself to think what she had been avoiding the entire evening.

She was falling in love with Lenora.


	5. Inhibitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1920
> 
> Thanks to pablo360 for the chapter title!

"Tell me about blood magic," Lenora said one day over breakfast.

William Hadley-Bright choked on his bacon, Henry Purfois set his water glass down quite hard, and Tom Levy laughed. Catherine said nothing, for she had nodded off on the table next to her bowl of oatmeal.

"I'm serious," Lenora insisted. "I've heard it's very powerful."

"Don't let Mr. Segundus hear you talking about it," Tom said. "He'll give you a scolding you won't never forget."

"My interest is purely theoretical."

"That's not what I heard." A dark smile lingered at the edge of Tom's mouth.

Lenora took a gulp of water to cover her alarm. "What exactly did you hear?"

"You and Miss Redruth were doing blood magic in York." Tom thumped Catherine's shoulder, and she awoke with a start. "Isn't that right, Miss Redruth?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Lenora hid her relief. "Yes, we did some blood magic, but Catherine assured me that it was also herbal magic."

"And so begins the fall from on high of Miss Devereaux," William proclaimed. He swept his arm in a grand motion as though announcing the arrival of some royal lady, but the effects of his gesture were somewhat spoiled when he spilled his coffee in Henry's lap. "So sorry, chap. Here, let me fetch you a napkin."

Henry batted William's hands away and attempted a spell to make the coffee leap back into its cup, but unfortunately, his aim was off. Tom found his coffee-soaked biscuit and promptly enchanted it to fly around Henry's head. Henry, in turn, made all the seeds in Tom's seedcake sprout and put forth leaves. As was usually the case when Mr. Segundus was not there to supervise, breakfast descended into light-hearted bickering and the unnecessary performance of ill-conceived spells. Catherine and Lenora escaped relatively unscathed to the garden.

"Will you be visiting your family before the holiday is over?" Catherine asked as she clipped several rosemary stems.

Lenora sat back on her heels. "No, I don't think so," she said after a moment of consideration.

Catherine looked up at her. "You won't get much of an opportunity to see them once term starts."

"I think my mother and siblings would count that as a blessing." Lenora laughed. "Don't look so surprised. There are no ill feelings between us, but there aren't many good ones, either."

Catherine, who had known only love from her parents and siblings and Mr. Segundus, was baffled. "Why?"

Lenora brushed a curl of hair out of her eyes, leaving a smear of soil along her cheekbone. Catherine was quite drawn to that soil and the way it made Lenora look: Untidy in a manner that suggested exertion; dirty in an earthy sort of way that called to mind greenness and growing things. Lenora spoke, and Catherine snapped out of her reverie. "I'm afraid that I'm somewhat of an inconvenience. I have four older sisters and one older brother, all of whom are more biddable than I." Lenora turned back to her work, and Catherine studied the side of her face. "I disappoint them, to tell the truth. I cannot be the person my mother wants me to be or do the things she wants me to do."

"I'm sure your family loves you," Catherine insisted.

Lenora smiled sadly. "I'm sure they do, after their own manner. But they'd love me more if I were...  _ other _ than I am."

"In what way?" Catherine abandoned her task of harvesting herbs.

"In every way. If I were not a magician, if I were more obliging, if I had any desire to marry..."

Catherine raised an eyebrow at this. "You do not wish to marry? But you're the daughter of a viscount!"

"Please, Catherine," said Lenora, a pained expression on her face. "I hear that enough from my mother. I cannot hear it from you as well."

"I'm sorry." Catherine busied her hands in the soil once more. "I'm just surprised. What if the right man comes along?"

"There  _ is _ no right man!" Catherine stared at her, and Lenora blushed. "I may— that is to say, I suppose... Perhaps I simply have not met him yet." She collected a handful of stems from the thyme. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. Please forgive me."

Catherine watched the arch of Lenora's neck beneath the wide-brimmed hat that hid her expressions. "There's nothing to forgive." Lenora turned to smile at her, then bent to her task once more.

The rest of the early morning passed in relative quiet; by this point, Lenora needed very little instruction on how to best care for and harvest the herbs they cultivated. It wasn't until they settled down for a lonely midmorning tea— the gentlemen were all with Vinculus, and Catherine greatly preferred reading the King's Letters after they had been transcribed to parchment— when Catherine picked up the thread of their previous conversation. "Why do you not want to marry?"

Lenora set her cup down in its saucer. "I don't want to give up my freedom," she said after a moment of thought.

"Not even for love?" Catherine asked.

Lenora scoffed. "Love? What freedom could a man's love give me? I'd be tied to  _ his _ house. I'd have  _ his _ children. I would not be myself anymore; I would be  _ his _ wife."

"But is marriage not a sacred office granted to mankind by God, so we may feel some measure of the love He feels for us?"

"Ah, yes, you're a priest's daughter," said Lenora with a wry look at Catherine. "You would think so."

"Do you disagree?" Catherine demanded. She put aside her cup and saucer, tea forgotten entirely.

"I don't know." Lenora frowned into her tea. "I only know that I have never met a man I might love in such a way, nor did my parents love me with any great measure."

"You're verging on blasphemy."

Lenora looked up, defiantly meeting Catherine's eyes. "And if I am? I've told you that I have reconsidered many of my opinions on the King's laws. Why should I not do the same for God's laws?"

Catherine was stunned by Lenora's rebellion; Lenora of all people, who was usually so proper and studious, the very model of a modern lady magician. She couldn't answer for a few moments, and in that time, Lenora blushed and looked away.

"It seems I must beg your forgiveness again, and so soon," the lady said. "I have shocked you."

"And once again, there's nothing to forgive." Catherine took a sip of tea to cover the awkward moment. "What's brought all this on?"

Lenora sighed. "I've had a letter from my mother. She expects me to give up the study of magic and return home to Hereford."

"I thought your mother was eager for you to learn magic," said Catherine.

"No." Lenora looked bitter. "She was eager to ship me off to the country so I wouldn't be in London during the Season. I'm sorry, Catherine, that my mother expected to use this noble institution as a matter of convenience and then cast it away when its usefulness has declined. It is a sensation I am familiar with, but I expect you are not."

Catherine was about to indignantly retort that she  _ certainly was familiar with such a sensation  _ and  _ it's right unfair of Lenora to make such assumptions about her _ when she realized that Lenora was, in fact, correct.

Lenora seemed to follow Catherine's thought process, and she smiled. "Come now," she said. "I have no intention of leaving. My mother shall simply have to be disappointed from a distance, which I'm sure she will enjoy greatly. Let's talk of a happier topic. You help tutor the younger students during the term, do you not?"

So Catherine launched into a detailed explanation of the functioning of Starecross. She told Lenora of how Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot taught a basic magical curriculum to young students of magic, and how she and William and Henry and Tom assisted with tutoring and with specialized areas of magic. She and the other advanced magicians, Catherine explained, also independently pursued their own scholarship, advised by Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot.

Lenora was fascinated by this rather haphazard method of instruction. "When do they learn normal school topics? Letters, figures, that sort of thing?"

"We only take older students. They've learned all that by then."

"Will I be asked to tutor other students?"

Catherine shrugged. "Not this term, most likely. Mr. Segundus may ask you to sit in on some of the classes to see how they're conducted."

"Mr. Segundus said that some of the gentlemen are studying ritual magic?" Catherine nodded, and Lenora continued. "Your independent area of study is the fairy roads, is it not?"

"Aye," said Catherine. "It's like to take many years, but afterward, I might explore the King's Roads an' all."

Lenora poured herself a new cup of tea and drank it all in one go. When she spoke again, her words were hurried, as though she were forcing them out before she lost her nerve. "Might you be in need of an assistant?"

Catherine considered it. There was great appeal in the thought of traipsing across Yorkshire with Lenora at her side, comparing notes on fairy roads and sheltering in the shade of oak trees. She allowed herself to imagine, just for a moment, laying down beneath the stars and waking up in the morning to see Lenora's smile and sleep-rumpled hair. Could she bear it?

Could she bear the alternative— Lenora locked away in Hereford, her birdsong magic silenced?

"I might," Catherine said. "And I'd count it a blessing if you'd fill the position. So long as you take the proper precautions in the future to avoid drowning thissen."

Lenora's smile spread across her face like a sunrise, and Catherine was entranced. She wanted to make Lenora smile like that every day. "So how does it work?" the lady asked. "How do you balance studying the fairy roads and tutoring?"

"I work it out with Mr. Segundus," said Catherine. "I stay here for three or four days at a time, and the rest of the week, I ride out into the country. Mr. Segundus and Childermass have put it about that the school is engaged in the mapping of fairy roads, so we sometimes get letters from farmers or villagers about some strange happening."

"Have you received any such letters recently?" Lenora asked.

Catherine nodded and helped herself to another slice of seedcake. "A farmer discovered a spring what he'd not seen before on his land, and when he drank from it, it tasted of wine." She smiled. "He doesn't say outright, but powerful wine it must have been."

"We should investigate, should we not? That sounds like it could be a fairy spring."

"I agree," said Catherine. "I've been meaning to, but I've been kept busy here. Between working in the garden and tutoring you and helping Mr. Segundus, I haven't been able to get away."

"We must visit him," Lenora insisted. "I shall write to him this afternoon."

"You're right eager to get started." Catherine quirked an eyebrow at the lady as she took a sip of tea.

Lenora laughed. "Yes, I suppose I am. Only it sounds so freeing, to wander about on the moors doing magic. The thought of it is quite romantic." Catherine accidentally caught her eye, and she blushed. "Oh! I didn't mean romantic in quite  _ that _ sense. I only meant... Well, like something out of a novel or a fairy-tale, I suppose."

Catherine couldn't help but be disappointed against her better judgement. "Of course," she said. "And by all means, you must write to the farmer. I should like to pay him a visit as soon as possible." She gazed around the drawing room. "I need to get away from the house for a few days."

Lenora wrote to the farmer that afternoon, and she received a prompt reply. The farmer— one Mr. Longley from outside Thirsk— invited Lenora and Catherine to visit as soon as possible and accept his hospitality for a night or two. Mrs. Longley, the farmer wrote, had an interest in magic and would be delighted to share her table with two lady magicians. Lenora accepted the offer gladly, and a few days later, she and Catherine set out on the road to Thirsk. They were obliged to ride their horses once more, as Mr. Segundus had need of the carriage; the curtains in the upstairs dormitories were wearing thin, and he would be traveling to York the next day to purchase thicker fabric. Lenora's horse had quite recovered from her encounter with the injury in the apple, and she trotted down the road as gaily as ever. The August morning promised a hot day, and the moor was alive with sunshine. The magicians rode in the shade of an unruly hedge that rustled in the heather-scented breeze.

"So," said Catherine around midmorning. "What was all that about blood magic the other day?"

"Oh, that." Lenora paused. "That was a rather ill-conceived plan on my part, I must say. I had thought to write to my mother of blood magic in order to shock her, but I'm glad I did not. It only would have made her more insistent that I return to Hereford." She paused to watch a swarm of starlings dart across the sky.

"What did you write of instead?"

"Some drabble about the garden and the lessons." Lenora shrugged. "Just daily life."

Catherine furrowed her brow. "You're not bored in the garden, are you?"

"Not at all!" Lenora assured her. "I love the garden. I could spend all day with you there."

Catherine imagined it: working in the garden in the morning, having a picnic luncheon beside the roses and the lilacs, then strolling through the land surrounding the hall in the afternoon. Perhaps they could dip their feet in the stream to cool off before returning to the garden to harvest the herbs that must be collected when the sun was low in the sky: the evening primrose and the night-blooming jasmine. "That'd be a delight," she said quietly. Lenora smiled, and Catherine's heart ached for her.

They reached Thirsk just after luncheon and found their way to the farmer's lands without too much trouble. Mr. and Mrs. Longley welcomed them with smiles and ushered them inside for tea. Catherine gazed around the inside of the farmhouse while she took her tea. She hadn't been in many farmhouses before, and though her scholarly curiosity was limited mostly to magic and the topics that closely informed magic, she was an explorer at heart; she had an explorer's need to observe and document the unknown. The Longley house was well-built of a warm yellow wood. On one side was a fireplace over which hung a pot of fragrant stew; a large table with six chairs sat nearby. A door to the side led off to some private room, and half of the house had a second story, scarcely more than a loft with three narrow beds. "Tha's where th' children sleep," said Mrs. Longley. She was a no-nonsense sort of woman, which Catherine supposed was a valuable trait for a farmer's wife. Her hair was tied back under a stern cap, and her dress had no decorations or frills. She was not the sort of woman Catherine would have expected to be interested in magic, but then, Catherine reflected, she and Lenora were hardly typical magicians themselves. "They're out in the fields now, but you'll meet them t'night."

"I look forward to it," Lenora said, and Mrs. Longley beamed.

"Now, now, Mary, don't bore the girls," Mr. Longley chided. "They need time to rest after their journey."

"We're not bored," Lenora assured him. "But I should like to see the fairy spring as soon as possible. I'm not tired at all. What about you, Catherine?"

Catherine finished her tea. "I'm eager to see the spring as well," she said as she stood.

"Alright," said Mr. Longley. "Ye ladies just abide until I saddle me horse." While they waited, Mrs. Longley packed up several rolls of bread and slices of meat.

"Being out in the sun always makes Mr. Longley hungry," she explained. "Now, while me husband's away, we must decide on sleeping arrangements. You're welcome to stay the night, o'course, and you'll have our bed if ye do."

"We couldn't possibly put you out of your bed, Mrs. Longley," said Lenora. "We'll stay in town. The ride is only a matter of minutes."

"You must allow us to pay for your rooms, then! I'll not allow any guests of mine to be put to trouble."

Catherine smiled. "No trouble at all, Mrs. Longley. One of the benefits of being attached to a school is that the school pays for our expenses, so long as we keep them moderate."

"Well, then." Mrs. Longley looked stymied for a moment while she considered how best to accommodate her guests. "At least allow me to book the rooms for ye. I know the innkeeper of the Golden Perch; I'll get ye a good rate."

"Very well," said Lenora. "So long as you allow the school to pay for them."

Mr. Longley came in then, his face already ruddy with heat beneath his grey-sprinkled brown hair. "Shall we, ladies?" He slapped a wide-brimmed hat on at a rakish angle and kissed his wife on the cheek.

"I'm going into town this afternoon," Mrs. Longley called after him as he led Lenora and Catherine out into the yard. "I'll book the ladies a room at the Golden Perch."

"You're staying in town tonight?" Mr. Longley asked. He boosted both women into their saddles before clambering onto his own horse.

"Aye," said Catherine. "Mrs. Longley very kindly invited us to stay, but we couldn't ask you to give up your bed."

"At least allow us to give ye supper." Mr. Longley led the group around the farmhouse and through a field of grain. "Mrs. Longley's been cooking something special."

Lenora glanced at Catherine, who gave her a tiny nod. "Thank you," she said. "We'd be much obliged to you."

"So, tell me more about this spring," Catherine said.

"It's just at the top o’ that hill, not too far away." Mr. Longley indicated the area. "Like I said in me letter, I'd not noticed it before just last week. I checked the water and took a drink from it to see if it was safe. I noticed it tasted like wine, and a few minutes later, I was right..." He cleared his throat. "Well, I was rather more in me cups than I was previous. Quite odd, I'd only had a mouthful."

"Odd indeed," Catherine mused. "Have you allowed any of your animals to drink from this spring?"

"Nay, and I've not gone back since that evening."

"That was wise, Mr. Longley," said Catherine.

They approached the spring a few minutes later. Calling it a  _ spring _ was generous; it was scarcely more than a few weak rivulets of water seeping up from underground and gathering in a natural stone basin. Catherine dismounted and fetched the materials for Belasis's Scopus from her saddlebags. "We need to check if the magic is persistent or if it only occurred the once."

"The once that we know of," Lenora said. "Does anyone else come this way?"

"Just me kids," said Mr. Longley as he and Lenora dismounted and moved to stand by Catherine. "I warned them away from th' spring, though. Said the water was foul."

Scopus revealed the magic to be constant and, as Catherine paced around the spring, drinking glass in hand, emanating from deep underground. "I expect there's a gate to Faerie that opens beneath our feet." She drank the water in the glass, then refilled it with water from the spring. She brought the glass to her nose and inhaled deeply; the water smelled of summer and laughter and berries ripening on the vine.

"Under our feet?" Mr. Longley repeated. "What's th' use in tha'?"

"Not much, for beings such as ourselves," said Lenora. "But there's any number of fairies and spirits who would not be daunted by a gate underground. If Catherine is correct, I'd guess that somewhere in Faerie, wherever the gate leads, there's a river of this sort of water. The gate has opened just enough to let a bit come through."

Mr. Longley considered for a moment. "D'ye have to close it up?"

"It's safest if we do," Lenora said. "We don't know what else might come through the gate."

"Aye, that's true enough." Mr. Longley sounded slightly regretful. "Only it were the sweetest-tasting wine I ever 'ad."

Catherine cast a series of spells of revelation and truth-finding, but none gave her the answers she wanted. She frowned and thought for a moment before she came to a decision. "One of us will need to taste it."

Mr. Longley looked between the magicians. "I, uh. I wouldn't mind doing the honors."

Catherine shook her head. "It must be me or Lenora, I'm afraid. We both know how it feels to be enchanted, and we know how to guard ourselves against it."

"I'll do it," said Lenora. "You're far better at protection spells than I, so you'll be able to cast one upon me if I'm unable to do so myself. Besides," she said with a wry smile, "I have more experience with enchanted rivers."

"Do you have summat red this time?" Catherine asked.

Lenora pulled a red scarf from her saddlebag and wound it around her neck, then replaced her leather riding gloves with gloves of thin red cotton.

Catherine handed her the glass. "Just a taste," she warned.

Lenora brought the glass to her lips and took a tiny sip. "It's sweet," she said, her brow furrowed.

Catherine took the glass back and watched her intently. "How do you feel?"

"Not enchanted." Lenora stared at one of her red gloves. "Just... my head feels light."

"It's strong stuff, innit?" said Mr. Longley.

Lenora sat down quite hard on the ground and stretched out on her back, unheeding of the rocks and the dirt. Catherine knelt beside her. "Not enchanted," Lenora said dreamily. "Catherine, lie down with me. I would lie beside you."

"I... um," Catherine stammered. She looked to Mr. Longley for help.

"Th' lady's sozzled," he said. "Best to get 'er back to the house. Mrs. Longley will set 'er right."

Catherine tried to haul Lenora to her feet, but her long limbs proved too ungainly to manage. Eventually, Catherine mounted her horse, and she and Mr. Longley between them hoisted Lenora into the saddle in front. They set out for the house, Mr. Longley leading Lenora's mare, and Lenora's head lolled back on Catherine's shoulder. "You smell nice," she said.

Catherine scoffed. "I smell like sweat and horses." She struggled to steer her horse and keep Lenora balanced at the same time, and Lenora, giggling and loose-limbed, was no help. She felt Lenora's lips at her throat, light as petals, and then the gentle press of her tongue. "What are you doing?"

"You smell like magic." Lenora's voice was barely above a whisper, and Catherine shivered. "I wanted to see if you taste like magic, too."

Catherine had to take several deep, calming breaths before she could answer. "And do I?"

"Mm." Lenora applied her lips to Catherine's neck again. "Yes." She was silent for a few moments, her face tilted toward the sky. "You're very pretty, Catherine."

"You're very drunk," Catherine said, but she smiled to herself.

Lenora sighed happily. "That doesn't mean I'm wrong. Catherine, you're beautiful. Even your name is lovely. Catherine. Cath-e-rine." She giggled.

"How's the lady doing?" called Mr. Langley from ahead.

"Sillier by the minute," Catherine replied.

"No matter. We're nearly there." They crested one more hill and skirted around an enclosure of pigs before arriving at the stables. Mr. Longley helped Lenora down first, then passed her off to Catherine after she dismounted. "Take the lady inside. I'll see t' the horses."

Mrs. Longley tutted when she saw Lenora. "I know that look," she said. "Bit early for that, innit?"

"She tasted the water from the spring," Catherine explained. Mrs. Longley opened the door to the side of the fireplace; behind was a small, sparse bedroom with heavy woolen curtains.

"What'd she do that for?" Mrs. Longley smoothed the counterpane. "Put her down here."

Catherine deposited Lenora on the bed and adjusted her dress. "We had to see if the water was enchanted. It wasn't, but we think it came through a fairy gate. We'll close the gate tomorrow, I think."

"Well, she's certainly in no state to close a gate now." Mrs. Longley sighed, her hands on her hips. "I'll make 'er some tea, and she should eat summat."

Lenora hummed dreamily while Mrs. Longley bustled about, making tea and preparing a tray of food. "I'm very sorry, Catherine," she said, her eyes closed.

Catherine sat down on the edge of the bed. "Whatever for?"

"I feel I've embarrassed myself, or I said something to drive you away. I'm not used to feeling like this."

"Drunk?" Catherine guessed.

"Mm." Lenora smiled without opening her eyes.

"You'll feel all better soon enough, lass," said Mrs. Longley as she reappeared with a tray of bread and cheese. "Tea's coming in a moment, but ye just eat up."

Catherine pulled on Lenora's arms until she was sitting, then pressed a dense roll of bread into her hands. "Eat," said Catherine.

Lenora ate, then drank two cups of Mrs. Longley's very strong tea. Afterward, she seemed rather more herself, and she yawned widely. "I think I should sleep." Her voice had lost some of its dreamy quality. Catherine helped her unpin her hair, and she lay down in a sprawl that somehow still looked elegant to Catherine's eyes. She reached out a hand across the bed. "Don't leave."

Catherine didn't leave.

She spent the rest of the afternoon thinking, remembering, examining her memories in a new light, and thinking some more. Evening arrived before Lenora awoke to a gentle rainstorm pattering on the roof and dripping off the eaves. Catherine made a decision as soon as Lenora opened her eyes. "Good morning," Catherine said wryly. She took a sip of tea. "Any headache?"

Lenora blinked. "None. I feel rather well-rested, actually." Her stomach rumbled. "And hungry, apparently."

"Supper won't be long," said Catherine. "There's tea, in the meantime."

Lenora sat and poured herself a cup of tea. "So, how badly did I embarrass myself?"

Catherine considered. "You told me I was very pretty. Also, you licked me."

Lenora blushed and took a large gulp of tea. "Goodness, that bad?"

"I didn't say I minded." Catherine caught Lenora's eye over the rim of her teacup, and the lady blushed harder.

"You can't mean..." Lenora trailed off.

"A different king, Lenora." Catherine smiled. "And different laws."

Lenora opened her mouth to reply, but Mrs. Longley bustled in. "Oh, good, you're awake! Supper's ready. Now, I'm afraid th' wine won't be as fine as you're used to, but we're right honored to 'ave ye at our table."

Supper was a thick stew, hearty and rich, with plenty of crusty bread to sop it up. "Go on, 'ave another bowl," Mrs. Longley urged when Catherine finished her serving. "You're too skinny by far, the both o' ye. And ye too, boys." The three Longley sons, quiet and solemn-faced, obediently served themselves more stew.

"You are far too generous, Mrs. Longley," said Lenora, but she helped herself to another ladleful.

"Well, I may be trying to assuage me guilty heart," Mrs. Longley said. "I went too late in the day to book ye both your own rooms. It won't be a problem if ye share, will it? Of course, one of ye could stay here..."

"No problem at all, Mrs. Longley." Catherine glanced at Lenora, who nodded in agreement. "Thank you kind for getting us such a good rate."

"Oh, it were no problem at all, ladies, no problem at all!" Mrs. Longley looked slightly worried. "Only, well. I may have told the innkeeper, me cousin, y'know... I may have told him ye would hex him if he didn't give ye a discount."

Lenora giggled. "Well, we can hardly complain."

Catherine finished her wine. "It's well for magicians to be held in respect." She watched the children out of the corner of her eye and raised an eyebrow. They looked appropriately respectful, except for the middle one, who seemed bold. Catherine predicted he would be a troublemaker before too long.

"I think that counts as fear." Lenora finished her wine as well, and she and Catherine exchanged glances. "I must thank you both once again for your hospitality, but we should head into town before it gets too dark to see the roads. What time may we call on you tomorrow to get the fairy gate sorted?"

"I'm finished with me morning chores 'round half eight," said Mr. Longley. He had been quiet for most of the dinner as he steadily polished off three bowls of stew, and he now looked well-fed and sleepy. "I can spare half an hour then."

"Half eight it is," Catherine said. She and Lenora helped Mr. Longley saddle their horses by lamplight while he gave them rather confusing directions to the Golden Perch. They rode into town and found the inn, only getting lost once and asking for directions twice. The inn was small but comfortable, and the inside was clean and well-lit.

"You're th' magicians, then?" The innkeeper looked rather nervous. "So sorry I couldn't find ye separate rooms."

"It's quite alright," Lenora assured him.

He polished his glasses. "Ye won't do owt... unnatural to me room, will ye? Ye won't hex me?"

"Mrs. Longley has made us out to be rather more vicious than we are," Catherine said.

"Oh, well then." The innkeeper considered. "Here's yer key. Room's just to the left."

"Much obliged," said Catherine, and she led Lenora to their room. It was dark behind the door, but Catherine lit a lamp to reveal a rough-hewn chest of drawers with a basin of water, a mirror hanging above, an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, and a bed that was wider than Catherine had expected. Lenora froze, her eyes fixed on the bed, and Catherine realized that she would have to be very brave and quite gentle in equal measures tonight in order to avoid driving Lenora away forever. She moved to stand behind Lenora and forced her hands to cease trembling through sheer force of will. She undid the ribbon that bound Lenora's hat upon her head and laid it upon the chest of drawers. "Do you want this?" She pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Lenora's neck, and Lenora gave a soft sigh.

"Yes." The lady's voice was barely more than a whisper.

Catherine unpinned Lenora's hair and combed out the reddish braid with her hands. She tangled her fingers in Lenora's hair and kissed her neck again. "And still?"

"Ah! Yes." Lenora's breath came heavier now, and she clutched at Catherine's skirts.

Catherine unbuttoned the top two buttons of Lenora's dress and paused when the lady's breath hitched. "Now, Lenora?"

"Catherine, if you don’t—" Lenora took a deep, shaky breath.

"If I don't what?" Catherine said with a smile. She undid another button, very slowly.

Lenora made a voice of frustration, spun around, and pressed her lips to Catherine's. Catherine was so surprised by this that she forgot to kiss back for a moment. She wrapped one hand around Lenora's hip, and her other hand tangled in Lenora's hair. Lenora's lips were soft and eager, and she tasted of magic. Catherine recalled what Lenora had said to her earlier, and she laughed to herself. The lady had not had much practice, Catherine noted with a touch of fond amusement. Her kisses were clumsy, but she had always been a quick study, and she learned well under Catherine's instruction. After a few moments, Catherine took a step forward, and another, and another, until she could push the lady against the wall. Lenora tugged at Catherine's hairpins without breaking the kiss, and Catherine felt her dark hair fall heavily down her back.

Lenora pulled away after several moments. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips reddened, and her chest heaved prettily as she panted. "Catherine," she said, her voice almost a moan. "I'm not— I don't—"

"We shall go no further tonight," Catherine promised. "Or ever, if you would not."

Lenora's mouth curled into a wicked smile that surprised Catherine as much as it pleased her. "Oh, I would. Just... not tonight." She pressed a chaste kiss to Catherine's forehead, and another to her lips.

"We should sleep," said Catherine. "We must be up early tomorrow." Lenora nodded, and they broke apart after another frantic moment. Catherine reflected how strangely intimate her nightly routine seemed now that she shared it with another person. They helped each other step out of dresses and into nightgowns, they brushed out and loosely plaited each other's hair, and they exchanged long, lingering kisses before slipping beneath the sheets together.

"I never thought I'd have this," Lenora murmured in Catherine's ear. She pressed herself closer against Catherine's back and wrapped her arm around Catherine's waist.

"Have what?" Catherine asked, just on the verge of sleep. Lenora didn't answer, and Catherine slipped easily into dreams.


	6. An Ill Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1920

Catherine awoke the next morning feeling uncomfortably warm and rather sweaty. She threw the sheet off her body, and Lenora grumbled beside her.

"No," the lady said, her voice rough from sleep. "It's too early."

Catherine swung her legs out of bed and stood. "We must meet the Longleys."

"No," Lenora repeated, and she turned her face into the pillow.

Catherine laid a fond hand on Lenora's shoulder and rang for a maid. She ordered tea and a light breakfast, then set about performing her morning routine; this didn't take long, for Catherine was not very careful with her appearance. She hadn't brought her curling tongs, so instead of curling the hair closest to her face as she usually did, she swept all her hair back into a simple bun. This made her look rather severe and almost fey beneath the brim of her hat. She liked the effect.

Breakfast arrived, and the smell of hot tea and fresh toast roused Lenora. Catherine took great pleasure in bringing the tray to the bed they had shared; when she informed Lenora of this, the lady smiled.

"Why, Catherine, you surprise me," she said. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be so happy with such... domesticity."

Catherine took a large bite of toast. "Why is that?" she asked after she swallowed.

Lenora didn't answer for a moment. "There is something rather wild and magical about you. It made me think for quite some time that you couldn't possibly content yourself with someone as common and simple as myself."

Catherine couldn't think of the correct words to say in reply, so instead, she laid her hand at the back of Lenora's neck— Lenora shivered at this— and pulled her into a kiss. "Nothing about you is common or simple," she whispered. "And you make me far, far happier than mere contentedness."

Lenora smiled at this and allowed the kiss to go on for another minute, then sighed and pulled away. "I really must dress. I'm afraid I don't have time to curl my hair. How frustrating."

"You were the one who wanted to sleep more," Catherine reminded her.

"Yes, yes." Lenora stood, careful not to upset the breakfast tray. "Help me with my dress, will you? It's so difficult to get into without a maid."

"Then why did you pack it?" Catherine asked as she helped Lenora dress.

"It hides the dirt of travel well," said Lenora. "We don't all care to look like vagabonds who've spent the better part of a week traipsing across a moor."

Catherine gasped in feigned affront. "I thought it made me look  _ wild _ and  _ magical. _ "

"It does," Lenora assured her. "But I suspect most of our commissioners would prefer us to look less wild and more magical."

"You need no help with that." Catherine did up the last few buttons on the back of Lenora's dress. "Did you know that your neck turns pink when you blush? I'd never noticed." She had to tilt her head up to press a kiss to the place where Lenora's neck joined her shoulder. "It's quite charming."

Lenora laughed. "Stop that or I'll never get my hair done in time!"

Catherine did not stop, and they were almost late for their meeting with Mr. Longley.

"Good morning, ladies," Mr. Longley called as their horses cantered up the path to his farmhouse. He was already astride his horse, and he fell into step as their mares slowed to a trot. "I trust ye had a comfortable night."

"Very comfortable, Mr. Longley," said Catherine. Lenora hid a smile, but the farmer didn't notice.

"So, how will ye go about sealing off this gate?"

Catherine pondered for a moment. "I believe a magic circle will be a fine temporary solution," she said. "However, to solve this problem permanently, we shall need your cooperation."

"What can I do?"

"Plant a circle of alternating ash and rowan trees, at least two of each," said Catherine. "You may make the circle as wide as it needs to be to sustain the health of the trees, but no larger. Between the trees and within the circle, you shall need to plant a variety of herbs of protection. I shall give you a list." She paused. "You said Mrs. Longley had an interest in magic? Would she be opposed to the task of reading a simple spell at certain times of the year?"

Mr. Longley laughed. "I should think she'd be delighted to perform such a task."

"Very good." Catherine nodded in satisfaction. "Taken altogether, these protections should have the effect of sealing the gate right fast from this side of things."

"The circle of stones," Lenora said. "Would that be the same magic you performed at the gate to Avalon?"

"Aye! I hope you brought the mortar and pestle this time."

"Avalon?" Mr. Longley repeated. "The Blessed Land?"

Catherine shook her head, then realized Mr. Longley couldn't see her; he was watching the rough trail ahead. "No, I shouldn't think so. Only somewhere in Faerie that shared its name."

Mr. Longley made a faint humming noise, and they spent the rest of the short ride to the spring in silence.

"I want you to raise the stones," Catherine said to Lenora as they dismounted.

"Me?" Lenora frowned slightly. "I've never performed such magic. I don't even know the spell."

"There's no spell. You must speak to the stones direct and ask them to raise up."

"Right." Lenora looked dubious, and Catherine sighed.

"Trust me." Catherine retrieved the mortar and pestle from her field kit and sought about for bracken and juniper. "It's not so very hard. Reach into the earth with your mind; you will feel them there. They're tired, but they respect strength. Speak to them firm."

"Anything I can do to help?" Mr. Longley asked.

"Yes," said Catherine. "I need juniper and bracken, and elder or flax, if you can find it."

"Only a few branches of each," Lenora called after the farmer's retreating back.

Catherine laughed. For lack of anything better to do, she strode to the other end of the hill and gazed out over the landscape below her. From her vantage point, she could see far away across the country; the morning mist had been burned away long ago. Much of the land this close to the city was covered in farms, delineated by hedges and grey stone walls. An occasional grove of trees darkened the landscape, and several hills were spotted with herds of cattle. It was a charming landscape, and for just a moment, Catherine felt quite peaceful.

Naturally, it couldn't last. "Catherine!" Lenora called from behind her. "I cannot make the stones do as I wish."

Catherine sighed and turned. "Yes you can," she called back. "Tell them you are a magician in the tradition of John Uskglass, the Raven King. The old alliances still stand; you tell them that."

Lenora knelt and pressed her hands into the soil, a look of intense concentration on her face. Catherine watched her for a minute before she looked up in frustration. "They say they do not understand me!"

Catherine knelt beside her and took her hand. "Let us speak with them together," she said. Lenora took a deep breath, and Catherine felt the lady's magic and awareness extend into the earth. It was a very strange sensation.

The stones responded to Catherine's tentative greeting rather grumpily. "No," they seemed to say. "We shall not be bothered by one who cannot even speak to us properly."

"She is young," Catherine said, but the stones seemed to have very little concept of time or age. "She is still forming and has not yet learned the proper way of doing things."

The stones were unmoved. "We shall be here when she learns."

Catherine felt a tentative press of familiar magic and grew rather light-headed. "Yes," she whispered to Lenora. "That's good. Talk to them like that."

"You owe allegiance to John Uskglass, the Raven King," Lenora said in the language of stones.

The earth was not happy about this. "You would invoke his name? You are not worthy of treading upon us!" The ground rumbled most ominously, and Mr. Longley, who was returning with several handfuls of plants, looked alarmed.

"I would," said Lenora. "And I am. I do the magic of the Raven King, and you are bound to heed my commands." The stones beneath their knees rumbled again, but she remained firm. "I command you to raise yourselves up."

The stones gave no response except to shake the earth harder. The horses danced uneasily, and a flock of startled plovers took flight. Lenora hunched her shoulders as though to protect herself from an assailant. The very air trembled with the force of the earth's anger, but the lady held firm. Catherine felt Lenora's magic push into the earth, swirling out from her hands and encircling the spring. With a raspy groan, stones tumbled up from out of the earth in jagged spires, following the path of Lenora's magic. The noise ceased.

"Very good, Lenora!" Catherine stood and pulled the lady to her feet. "Very good indeed."

A wild smile hovered at the edges of Lenora's mouth, and she panted for breath. Once she had recovered, she inspected one of the spires of rock. "They're not quite as neat as yours."

"They're solid and strong; that's most important." Catherine took the herbs from Mr. Longley's slackened grasp as he gaped at the circle.

"That was incredible, I say!" the farmer said when he found his voice.

"It was nothing," Lenora demurred, but Catherine could tell she was proud. She and Catherine got to work stripping leaves from the stems of elder, juniper, and bracken that Mr. Longley had retrieved.

"You can help with this, if you'd like," Catherine said, and Mr. Longley obliged. Once they had collected enough leaves in the mortar, Catherine crushed them into a lumpy mash. It took rather longer than she'd hoped, and Mr. Longley was starting to look restless. "Only a few more minutes," Catherine assured him. She added water to make a thin paste. "Do you remember the symbol?"

Lenora nodded and scooped a measure of the paste into the palm of her hand. She and Catherine worked around opposite sides of the circle of spires, painting the upside-down triangle on each stone. The task went much faster now that they had a proper puree of herbs. Once they finished, Catherine stood for a moment with her hands on her hips and admired their handiwork. "Well done," she proclaimed, and Lenora nodded in agreement. "That should do for now, Mr. Longley."

"Come on back to the house then and have some tea," Mr. Longley said. "Now, how much do we owe ye?" Catherine quoted the standard commission price, and the farmer agreed to it readily enough.

Lenora was silent for most of the ride back to the farmhouse. Catherine grew worried; all her attempts to draw Lenora into the conversation failed. Finally, she couldn't take the uncertainty anymore. "Are you quite alright, Lenora?"

"I spoke with stones today," Lenora said somewhat vaguely. "I didn't know I could do that. I mean, I knew it could be done, in theory, but I never thought I'd be the one doing such magic."

“It’s not so very different from the magic you’ve been doing.”

“Yes it is.” Lenora paused. “It’s like you said. There’s no spells for what we did. It’s rather thrilling, really, doing magic without a spell.”

"We'll make a proper Northern magician out of you yet," said Catherine.

Lenora smiled, and they arrived at the farmhouse not long after. Catherine retrieved her field notebook and writing materials from her saddlebags. "Don't trouble yourself to unsaddle our horses, Mr. Longley," she said. "We must be on our way back to Starecross Hall soon." Mrs. Longley rounded the side of the house, nearly tripping over a chicken, but she managed to keep hold of her basket filled with root vegetables. "Oh, Mrs. Longley. It's well you're here; I have a question for the both of you. I'm sorry to be indelicate, but..." Catherine glanced back and forth between the farmer and his wife. "Do either of you know your letters?"

"Aye, miss," said Mr. Longley. "Both of us. It's right important for a farmer to know 'is letters and figures. Otherwise 'ow could 'e manage the farm?"

Catherine let out a small sigh of relief. "That's quite alright, then. Mrs. Longley, your husband told me that you wouldn't mind performing a spell several times a year to ensure the continued protection of the fairy gate on this land."

"Certainly!" said Mrs. Longley. She set down her basket and ushered her husband and the magicians inside. "Do come in and tell me about this spell." Mr. Longley plodded to the bedroom, and Catherine heard the soft sounds of coins clinking against one another from beyond the partially-shut door.

Catherine sat down at the newly vacated table and wrote out the instructions for magically sealing the fairy gate, beginning with the circle of trees and ending with a simple incantation for Mrs. Longley to speak. "Four times a year," Catherine told her. "On the solstices and the equinoxes." Mrs. Longley nodded solemnly, and Catherine compiled a long list of herbs of protection. This she gave to Mr. Longley. "Choose four or five from this list, whichever are best suited to your land. Take care to ensure the health of the trees and herbs. That combined with the spell shall certainly prevent any magical extrusions from Faerie."

"We're much obliged to ye," Mr. Longley said. He passed a few coins to Lenora, who deftly slipped them into the small handbag at her wrist.

"We'll be off, then." Catherine stood and looked over her list and instructions one more time. "Don't hesitate to write to us at Starecross Hall if you experience any more troubles from the gate."

"Thank you again for your hospitality," Lenora said as she followed Catherine out the door. Mr. Longley helped them onto their horses, and they set off down the road back to Starecross. When Catherine turned around to catch one last glimpse of the farmhouse, she spotted Mr. Longley already back at work.

"Do you need owt from town?" asked Catherine as they rode along the outskirts of Thirsk.

Lenora shook her head, and they rode in silence for some minutes. Catherine allowed her mind to wander to the previous night and that very morning. She felt as though some film that had once lain over the world had now been pulled back; everything seemed brighter and crisper. She couldn't help but smile at the giddy sensation of happiness that stole over her.

"Oh, before I forget," Lenora said. She passed Catherine the money she had received from Mr. Longley, and Catherine counted it out and handed a portion back to her. "What's this for?"

"Them's your earnings." Catherine nodded encouragingly as Lenora stared at the coins she held. "You're my assistant now, proper and official. That means you get a part of every commission we take. I keep another part, and Mr. Segundus uses the rest to help fund Starecross Academy."

"But Mr. Segundus has a patroness, does he not?" Lenora asked. "I sent a letter of introduction to her when I was first accepted."

"Yes, but you know Mr. Segundus." Catherine shrugged. "He can't bear to think he's a burden on anyone."

Lenora laughed at that. "Well, I look forward to undertaking many such commissions with you in the future, Catherine."

"You can be certain we shall," Catherine said.

"And..." Lenora cleared her throat. "The other events of the previous day. Shall those be repeated in the future as well?"

"If you like," Catherine said. She glanced at the lady out of the corner of her eye, noting her furious blush, and decided to reward her uncharacteristic boldness. "I should very much like to."

Lenora smiled brilliantly. "So would I." Catherine felt warmed through, as though she had been soaking in the sun for hours.

The rest of their trip back to Starecross was spent in pleasant, idle chatter. Catherine told Lenora in detail about her magically-oriented siblings and their independent studies, and Lenora told Catherine in much less detail about her family. She made them sound rather dull, and she laughed when Catherine informed her of this. "Yes, they are rather dull, I should think. But I'm sure they'd say the same of me."

"They're wrong," Catherine said matter-of-factly. She paused. "Have you ever celebrated All Hallow's Eve in the North?"

"No!" Lenora laughed. "Why do you ask?"

Catherine shrugged. "It's coming up, is all."

"Is it so different from celebrations in the South?"

For a few moments, the only sounds to be heard were the horses' hooves and the rustling of the wind in the heather. "Yes and no," said Catherine. "Many of the customs are the same, I believe. But Mr. Segundus has informed me that southerners might find the exact form of them rather unnerving."

"He's southern himself, isn't he?"

"Yes," said Catherine with a wry smile. "But his heart has always been in the North."

"So, what forms do the customs take that make them so disquieting?"

"No," Catherine said. Lenora looked at her incredulously, and she laughed. "No! You shall see them for thissen soon enough, and I'll not spoil the surprise."

The village of Starecross came into view from beyond the gentle hills, as did the manor house not long after.

"I'm almost sad to come back," said Catherine. "But our regular lives must go on, I suppose."

"I know exactly what you mean." Lenora paused. "I should like this to become a part of our regular lives."

"It will," Catherine assured her. "But it's dangerous. We must be careful."

Lenora shot her a worried glance. "Would Mr. Segundus disapprove?"

"He'd be rather a hypocrite if he did, wouldn't he?" Catherine scoffed. "You're right, though. He wants to maintain an air of respectability."

"I know you don't put much stock in it, but being thought to be respectable is often more useful than a reputation for impropriety."

"I suppose."

They approached Starecross Hall, and a groom rushed out to meet them. He stabled their horses while Lenora and Catherine made their way inside.

William Hadley-Bright stepped out of the library. "Ah! Welcome back," he said. "Just in time for luncheon."

"Good," said Catherine. "I'm starving. We only had a light breakfast."

"Oh, a letter arrived for you this morning, Lenora," William said. "I think it's downstairs. Would you like me to fetch it for you?"

Lenora smiled. "That's very kind of you, William. Thank you."

William sped away, and Catherine waited until he was out of earshot. "Careful, or you'll have that boy falling for you."

"I shouldn't think so," Lenora said with a small laugh. "I think he misses being an aide-de-camp, always rushing about, delivering messages and the like." William returned and handed her the letter. "Thank you again, William." She unfolded and scanned it as the three magicians stepped into the dining room for luncheon.

"Who's it from?" Catherine asked.

"My mother." Lenora set the letter down on the table and turned to serve herself from the luncheon buffet; Catherine followed suit. "She writes with news of the Hereford estate."

"Good news, I hope?"

"Not terribly." Lenora had the same sort of carefully-controlled expression that she had worn when Catherine had read her cards. "I don't wish to discuss it."

Catherine nodded. "Can I help?" She and Lenora sat at opposite sides of the table, with William just a few seats down.

Lenora took a deep breath and smiled. "Were you planning on working in the garden this afternoon, since we couldn't in the morning?" Catherine nodded again, and she continued. "Might I have the afternoon free, then? I must think about how to respond."

"You can't think in the garden?"

"No, not if you're giving me lessons on herbal magic."

Mr. Segundus stepped into the dining room then, followed by Henry Purfois, Tom Levy, and Childermass. "Oh, good, you've already started!" he said. "Welcome back, Miss Redruth, Miss Devereaux."

"Is there owt I can do?" Catherine asked quietly while the men clattered around the buffet table.

"I just need the afternoon," said Lenora. She leaned close. "I won't be wasting time that I might spend on magical scholarship. I want to find a way to help my family."

"Through magic?"

Lenora nodded. "I'll look through the periodicals and the biographies. I'm sure I'll find something."

Childermass sat down heavily beside Catherine, his unkempt hair falling out of its tie. "What are you ladies whispering about?"

"Nothing." Lenora cleared her throat. "I had some bad news, and Catherine has kindly given me the afternoon free from lessons so I can respond."

Childermass glanced at Catherine. "Have you, now?"

"I suppose I have." Catherine watched Lenora over the rim of her coffee cup, but Lenora studiously avoided meeting her gaze. They finished lunch not long after and left the dining room. Catherine caught Lenora's elbow in the hallway, and they paused. "Are you sure there's nowt else I can do?"

Lenora's face was uncertain. She stepped closer to Catherine, too close for propriety; her eyes fixed on Catherine's lips. "I'm afraid that I..." She never finished her sentence.

Childermass strode out into the hall, and Lenora took a hasty step back. She blushed, nodded to Catherine and Childermass both, and hurried away. Catherine waited until the sound of her footsteps receded before she looked at Childermass. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, and a slow grin spread across his face.

"Don't start with me," Catherine warned. She pointed a threatening finger at him. "I don't want to hear it."

"Shall I tell Mr. Segundus you'll be undertaking many commissions with Miss Devereaux in the future?" asked Childermass, still grinning.

Catherine made a noise of frustration. "I'm sure there's a great many things Mr. Segundus would prefer to hear from you. Why don't you tell him one of those instead?" She whirled around and stalked out to the garden without waiting for Childermass's response.

The garden needed little upkeep that afternoon, Catherine discovered with disappointment. She had been looking forward to taking out her frustrations on weeds or dead branches. As it was, she only had to uproot a small number of creeping stems of black medic, which relinquished their hold on the soil with unsatisfying ease. She knew her vexation with Lenora was unfair. The lady had a right to private communications, especially regarding family matters such as a failing estate. Catherine couldn't know the state of Hereford for sure, but she could guess. And if she could guess, based on the little Lenora had told her, why wouldn't Lenora tell her everything? Catherine sat back on her heels for a moment, then decided that she would do no good by worrying. Lenora would come to her if she needed help; Catherine was sure of it. Thus resolved, Catherine hurried inside; in her haste to escape Childermass, she had forgotten to bring a basket for collecting herbs. As she crossed the lobby, headed for the kitchen, the footman stepped out of the dining room. He clutched a few pages of paper to his chest.

"Thomas," Catherine called. The footman paused. "What's that you have?"

"A letter, miss." Thomas held it out to her. "Miss Devereaux left it in the dining room and asked me to fetch it."

"Give it to me." Thomas hesitated, and Catherine smiled reassuringly. "I'll take it to her. I was just looking for her, anyway. Where is she?"

Thomas handed over the letter. "The library, miss."

"Thank you, Thomas." Thomas bowed his head, and Catherine stood in the hall for a moment, deep in thought.

Later, she would tell herself that it was an accident. She didn't quite believe it though, so she told herself instead that she had only wanted to help. Lenora didn't know Starecross's library nearly as well as Catherine did; what if she overlooked something that might be of use? Catherine wasn't sure if she believed that either. Whatever her reasons, Catherine took a deep breath and scanned the letter.

_ My dearest Lenora _ , it began, and Catherine scoffed.

_ I am glad to hear that you are in good health. Your brother and sisters are well, and they ask me to send you their best wishes. _ The letter went on to detail the various exploits of Lenora's young nieces and nephews, and Catherine sighed with boredom and skipped ahead. Her eye caught on something near the end of the letter. _ It is past time for you to return home, Lenora. You have dabbled in magic for quite long enough, and now your duty is to your family. Your brother has found a suitable man: Henry Coventry, the son of Lord Coventry. His prospects are excellent, and he is eager to marry. He will surely bestow his attentions upon another woman if you do not meet him soon. And if you do not marry within the year, you shall have no dowry and no prospects, and our house shall succumb to debt. _

Catherine pressed a shaky hand to her mouth. It was no wonder that Lenora had wanted the afternoon off. Should she confront the lady? No, Catherine decided. It would do Lenora no good to know that Catherine had pried into her family business. This resolution made Catherine rather queasy; she didn't wish to be dishonest, but she felt the other option would be far worse. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the library.

Inside, Lenora had stacked books onto a table in towers so tall that they threatened to topple over. She paced along the shelves, muttering something Catherine couldn't hear and grabbing even more books to add to her piles. Catherine closed the door behind her, and Lenora looked up at the sound. "Oh, Catherine!" She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Catherine forced herself to smile. "Of course not. Only, Thomas said you asked him to fetch your letter." She held out the sheets of paper. "He was called away downstairs, so I said I'd get it to you."

"That's very kind of you." Lenora took the letter and folded it up without looking at it. She paused. "Catherine, I'm very sorry, but I must ask you to leave me be for a few hours. I really must deal with this on my own."

Catherine didn't bother to conceal the hurt she felt at Lenora's words. "If that's what you want."

"It is." Lenora stared down at the books in her arms.

"Please, Lenora." The lady looked up at the sound of her name, and Catherine saw that her eyes were filled with tears. She stepped close and took the books from Lenora's arms. "I shan't pry," Catherine said quietly. Guilt twisted in her stomach. "No more than I already have, at least. But please, let me know if there's owt I can do to help."

Lenora let out a broken sob and flung her arms around Catherine. She cried almost silently for a minute, her ragged breaths the only sound in the library, and Catherine stroked her hands down the lady's shaking back. Lenora's breathing grew steadier, and a minute later, she stepped back, perfectly composed. The only signs of her grief were the tears still shining on her slightly-reddened cheeks; these she dabbed at with a handkerchief until they were dry. "Perhaps tomorrow, or later this evening." Her voice had the faintest undercurrent of sadness, but Catherine doubted that anyone but herself would have noticed. "For now, I'd like to work on my own."

"I suppose I'll go update my map, then," she said. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "Do you have any notes you'd like to add?"

Lenora shook her head. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"You'll learn," Catherine promised. "You're my assistant now, so you'll have to learn how to take notes for the map."

"I certainly hope so," said Lenora with a sad smile.

"Right, then." Catherine felt like there was something else she was supposed to say, but she couldn't think of the correct words. "I'll leave you to it." She felt the pressure of Lenora's gaze on the back of her neck as she turned and left the library. She plodded up the stairs and through the hallway to her room. When she got there, she paced along the confines of the walls, all thoughts of adding notations to her map forgotten. This did nothing to alleviate her anxiety, so she threw herself upon the bed.

The thought entered Catherine's mind that Lenora might be compelled against her will to leave Starecross Hall. What then? Catherine didn't know how she could cope if that were the case. No— better to ensure that Lenora would not be forced to leave.  _ What if she _ wanted  _ to leave? _ asked a small, insidious part of Catherine's mind.  _ What if she realizes that you're not good enough? _ Catherine rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The cruel voice wasn't entirely silenced, but it became quiet enough that Catherine could ignore it without much trouble. This was a temporary setback, she told herself firmly. She had experienced many such setbacks in her life— the world seemed designed to provide these obstacles to women— and she had overcome them all with ambition and perseverance. There was no reason she could not do the same in this situation.

Thus resolved, Catherine pushed herself into a sitting position, retrieved her field notebook from its place on her bedside table, and regarded her map.


	7. Blood Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1920
> 
> Content warning: this chapter contains depictions of self-harm for the purpose of magic.

Catherine, much to her chagrin, found little time to assist Lenora in seeking a solution to her family's financial woes. They still tended the garden together in the mornings, but Lenora spoke little of her research; Catherine could sense the lady was becoming discouraged. With the younger students arriving at Starecross Hall in less than a week, much of Catherine's time was taken up by preparations for the new school year. She wrote up lesson plans and reading lists with Mr. Segundus, argued with the young men about which of them might tutor which new students, and saw Childermass and Vinculus safely off to York one bright midmorning.

"I shall return before long," Childermass promised. "Only it is the third week of the month."

"Yes, the York Society meeting," sighed Mr. Segundus. "Well, I can't blame you for doing what you must. I wish I could join you, but there's far too much to do here."

"The Society shall be poorer for your absence, Mr. Segundus." Childermass tipped his hat to them, and he set off down the road on his magnificent stallion, Vinculus not far behind.

"Will you take a turn through the garden with me?" Mr. Segundus asked when the two men on horseback had disappeared from sight.

Catherine nodded, and they fell into step. "We could manage without you for a day if you would rather go to the meeting."

"No, I'm afraid I have a great number of letters to write that must be posted this afternoon." Mr. Segundus steered their steps toward the creek that ran through the land behind the house. "I've been putting them off, and now I must do them all at once."

"I'm not a distraction, am I?"

Mr. Segundus smiled. "Not at all. I'm an old man; I must take my exercise when I can."

"You're not so old as all that." Catherine linked her arm with his. "Has Childermass said anything to you?"

"A great many things," Mr. Segundus said darkly. "Most of which are either irritating or frustrating. I swear, that man takes great joy in trying the patience of everyone around him." He glanced at Catherine. "Was there anything he should have said?"

"Yes," Catherine said. She didn't elaborate, and Mr. Segundus sighed.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and Catherine basked in the tranquility of the landscape. The house was often hectic during the school year; she supposed she would not get to experience such calm for quite some time.

Finally, Mr. Segundus broke the silence. "Is there anything going on between you and Miss Devereaux?" His voice was unbearably gentle.

Catherine didn't trust herself to answer with words, so she just nodded.

"I know I don't have to tell you to be careful." Mr. Segundus laid his hand on Catherine's forearm. "And it would hardly be fair of me to say that such relations are inappropriate."

Catherine had to laugh at that. "No, it wouldn't."

"I just don't want to see you hurt." They paused in the shade of a small copse of trees by the creek. "I understand she received some bad news about her family's estate. Is there anything we can do to help?"

"She's looking for some way to find money for her family, I think." Catherine didn't want to reveal how much she knew about Lenora's situation or how she had come by that knowledge. "She seems to be under some kind of time constraint."

"Ah." Mr. Segundus nodded. "English magic is rather curious in its range, is it not? We can move mountains and rivers, we can reverse calamities and travel to other lands entirely. But when it comes to a problem like this..." he sighed. "There's not much we can do, is there?"

"The only solution I can think of is to ask for a fairy's assistance, but after everything that happened with Mr. Strange and Mr. Norrell, I wouldn't dare." Catherine watched as a few leaves from the trees above their heads floated down and landed in the water. They bobbed gently, and the creek bore them away. "She's so determined, though. Perhaps she'll find some reference or spell in a periodical."

"One can hope." Mr. Segundus gestured to the house. "Shall we go back? I really must get started on those letters."

Catherine nodded, and they retraced their steps to the house. Mr. Segundus settled himself in the drawing room to write his letters. Catherine, meanwhile, took it upon herself to organize the upstairs dormitories. She opened the windows as wide as they would go and tried to conjure a breeze to carry the dust out of the room; however, she only succeeded in flinging the dust into her eyes. She mopped at her stinging eyes with her handkerchief, then tried the spell again. It worked this time, but perhaps a bit too well. The dust coverings that Catherine had piled in a corner flew out the window alongside the dust. She huffed and trudged out to the garden to retrieve the fallen cloths, now muddy. The fabric was piled so high in her arms that she could barely see where she was going; consequently, she bumped into Mr. Segundus in the hallway and almost fell over.

"Let me take some of those," he said. Thus burdened, they made their way down to the laundry room. "It'll be an early luncheon today. The gentlemen have decided to attend the meeting tonight." He sighed. "I wish they had made up their minds earlier. They might have gone with Childermass. As it is, they'll almost be late. Will you go with them?"

Catherine considered it. "No, I don't think so," she said as she dumped her armful of dust covers in the corner of the laundry room. "I don't quite feel up to facing the Society men."

Mr. Segundus laughed at that. "I can't say I blame you."

"Will the men be staying the night in York?"

"I think so." Mr. Segundus led the way up the stairs and into the dining room. "The house will be rather quiet without them."

"I don't mind a bit of calm before the storm," said Catherine. She and Mr. Segundus served themselves from the buffet; as they took their seats at the table, Lenora arrived.

"I'm going to eat in the library, Mr. Segundus," Lenora said. "Is that alright?"

Mr. Segundus frowned. "I suppose so, as long as you're careful."

Lenora filled a plate, and Catherine studied her. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she hadn't bothered to curl her hair; her locks were pulled straight back and coiled in a rather severe bun. She had a jumpiness about her that set Catherine on edge. Catherine caught her eye, and she smiled; Catherine wasn't reassured. "I may have found something."

Catherine half-stood. "What is it?"

"I don't know for sure." Lenora shook her head. "No, sit. It's probably nothing, but I'll let you know if it's not."

Catherine exchanged a worried glance with Mr. Segundus as Lenora hurried out of the room.

"I hope we can come to a resolution before the school year starts," Mr. Segundus said. "She may have trouble focusing on lessons."

"Forget lessons." Mr. Segundus looked scandalized, and Catherine shook her head. "I only mean that if she doesn't find something soon, she may have to leave."

The arrival of the young men spared Mr. Segundus from answering. They were arguing about something at such a volume that Catherine couldn't quite make out the exact topic of the disagreement.

"But Portishead said—" said Tom.

"Oh nevermind Portishead, what about—" Henry interrupted.

"I think you'll find that Thorpe quite clearly—" That was William.

"Gentlemen!" Mr. Segundus's voice cut through the young men's squabble. "Please conduct yourselves in a manner fitting of your position."

"We are, Mr. Segundus," Tom said with a cheeky grin. "We're just warming up for the meeting tonight."

Mr. Segundus rubbed his temples, and Catherine had to hide her smile. "How is your book coming along?" she asked. "I don't suppose you've had much chance to work on it these past few days."

"No, indeed," said Mr. Segundus as the young men resumed their conversation at a more civilized volume. "It's been slow going, but I finished the second to last chapter yesterday. Would you be willing to take a look at it?"

"Delighted," Catherine said, and she allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with the men's debate about an article that proposed new uses for Doncaster squares. After she finished her luncheon, she took Mr. Segundus's draft out into the garden, along with a pen and a vial of ink. She raised an eyebrow at the many crossings-out and addendums that covered the pages; this was hopefully not the draft that Mr. Segundus would send to his publisher. The young men trundled away in a carriage not long after, and she happily waved them off.

Catherine spent a peaceful afternoon beneath a tree in the garden, reading and rereading Mr. Segundus's chapter. She had few notes to make; Mr. Segundus had already gone over his own work with a keen editor's eye. The biography of Jonathan Strange was coming along nicely. Catherine knew that Mr. Segundus hoped to have it published before the year was up. It might bring recognition or even fame to Starecross Academy, but Catherine was quite sure that Mr. Segundus didn't care for those things. He merely wanted to record the great deeds in a memorial of the man who had once been his friend. From what she had read of his book, Catherine was also quite sure that Mr. Segundus's humble nature would compel him to downplay his own role in bringing together the two men who returned magic to England. She wished he would give himself the credit he was due, but after all, it  _ was _ his book. Catherine laughed to herself. Maybe she would write a book about her time at Starecross and go into great detail about Mr. Segundus's many accomplishments!  _ No, _ she mused.  _ Best not. _ Readers would assume impropriety, and Mr. Segundus's reputation would be tarnished.

By the time Catherine had finished adding notations to the draft, it was time for afternoon tea. She took it with Mr. Segundus in the drawing room, and Lenora was nowhere to be seen. Catherine assumed she was still in the library. Mr. Segundus asked many questions about the chapter Catherine had read: Was his prose too dry? Were his facts and conclusions quite correct? Was it appropriate to include those correspondances at this time? Catherine answered his questions as best as she could, but she was rather distracted by her concern for Lenora. Mr. Segundus seemed to sense this, and he waved her off after a few minutes. "Go take her some tea," he said. "I doubt she's even thought about ringing for it, the poor lady."

Catherine didn't bother with a tray; she held a dish with biscuits in one hand and a saucer and teacup in the other. This made opening doors rather difficult, but she managed to drop only one biscuit. Lenora looked up as she entered the library; the lady's dress was rumpled, and her hair was falling out of its neat bun. Still, she stood and smiled when she caught sight of Catherine.

"I've brought you some tea," Catherine said rather unnecessarily.

Lenora nodded and accepted the cup. "Yes, thank you."

Now that Catherine could see her up close, she noticed a certain wildness in Lenora's expression and a nervous energy in her movements. "Have you found owt else you can use?" Catherine asked.

"Yes, I think so." Lenora took a sip of tea, and her hands shook. "I think I found something that just might work."

Her serious tone of voice worried Catherine. "Can I help you with it?"

Lenora set her teacup down and moved to stand very close to Catherine. Her hands cupped Catherine's face. "Yes, I should very much appreciate your help." There was something strange and inscrutable in her expression, and Catherine didn't like it at all.

Catherine pressed her lips to Lenora's; the lady tolerated it but didn't return the kiss. "This evening," Catherine whispered. "Take some time to rest, and we can do the magic this evening."

"No!" Lenora's vehemence surprised Catherine. "I mean... I'm exhausted. I'd much rather do it tomorrow."

Catherine took a step back and studied Lenora, who shifted uncomfortably. "Alright, if that's what you'd prefer," Catherine said slowly. "Why don't you show me what you've found, then? I'll take the rest of the afternoon and evening to study it."

"I'm still working out the details of it," said Lenora. She avoided Catherine's gaze. "But I should be finished by tomorrow morning. I... I hope we'll be able to work in the garden together tomorrow."

"Of course we will." Catherine glanced at the books Lenora had spread out over the table, but she couldn't even begin to piece together what kind of spell or ritual Lenora might have found to aid her.

"Thank you for the tea, Catherine," Lenora said. Catherine recognized the dismissal for what it was, and she smiled and turned to leave. Before she had taken more than three steps, however, Lenora caught her hand and pulled her into a bruisingly hard kiss. When they separated, Lenora wore an expression of determination and resolve. "This will work. I promise." She seemed to be reassuring herself as much as Catherine.

Catherine left her then with one last worried glance before she closed the door, but Lenora didn't look up from her books. There was little else for her to do, so she bent herself to the task of assisting Mr. Segundus in deciphering the text that the men had copied down from Vinculus. This was a task that she did not particularly enjoy; the King's Letters made her eyes ache if she looked at them for too long, and odd bits of magic tended to occur around her for several hours afterward. However, it was a task that needed to be done, so Catherine did it with what she viewed as a perfectly reasonable amount of complaining. Mr. Segundus might have disagreed with her on that point.

They worked together until supper, by which time they were thoroughly annoyed with one another. Madeira wine went a long way to smoothing over their mutual irritation, however, and they reminisced on previous memorable York Society meetings. Catherine enjoyed creating wild suppositions about which of Vinculus's body parts the magicians of the Society might be examining at that very moment, and Lenora asked a series of questions about how the Society had changed with the return of magic to England.

"I should like to go to one of the meetings someday, I think," Lenora said. She looked much less frazzled than she had earlier in the day, and she had lost most of her anxious manner. In its place was a kind of steady, quiet determination; for some reason, this put Catherine ill at ease.

"We'd be honored for you to join us," said Mr. Segundus with an encouraging sort of nod.

Lenora smiled. "Even though I'm not really a York magician?"

"Nonsense," Mr. Segundus said. "You're a student of Starecross Academy. You have every right to be there."

Lenora ducked her head modestly, but Catherine could see that she was pleased.

Supper was finished not long after, and Lenora retreated to the library once more. Catherine and Mr. Segundus spent a pleasant evening together talking about magic. Catherine told Mr. Segundus of her plot to write his biography, which amused him to no end. "What on Earth would you put in it?" he asked through his chuckles.

Catherine shrugged, rather discomfited. "You have many magical accomplishments, Mr. Segundus. I'd write about those."

Mr. Segundus brushed off her praise and grew more serious. "Now that you bring up authorship, I think it would be a good idea for you to publish. Perhaps not a biography of my own doings, but a report on your explorations and the fairy roads you've mapped. I know of several periodicals that would be most interested in an article of that sort."

Catherine nodded, and they fell into a discussion about Catherine's discoveries and how she might present them in an article. Soon enough, they were both yawning widely, and Mr. Segundus stood and stretched and declared that he was going to bed. Catherine poked her head into the library, but the room was dark save for the moonlight streaming in through the windows; when Catherine lit the lamp, she saw that Lenora had already left the room. Lenora had evidently cleared the desk and re-shelved the books she had been using, but when Catherine scanned the familiar shelves, she noticed that a few books were missing. She hurried through her nighttime routine, eager to crawl into bed, and sleep obliged her by overtaking her quickly.

Catherine awoke, choking on dread, just as the clock began to chime midnight. She noted somewhere in the back of her mind that this was quite odd; Starecross Hall had few clocks, and none of them were very loud. This was not a pressing realization, so she put it aside for later and tied on her dressing gown. The halls of Starecross, always convoluted, seemed even more twisted and sinister as she rushed through them to Mr. Segundus's room. He opened the door just as Catherine was about to knock, and she had to take a quick step back.

"What is it?" Catherine asked. Her voice sounded as though it came from a great distance, and she heard a faint echo of her own words a fraction of a second after she spoke them.

Mr. Segundus shook his head quickly as though clearing water out of his ears. "It's coming from upstairs." His voice had the same distant, echoing quality.

Catherine rushed up the nearby staircase, unheeding of Mr. Segundus calling after her. Her dread was giving way to terror, and panic crawled coldly up her spine. She was halfway up the stairs before she noticed her bare feet squelching in a warm liquid. She drew her fingers across the stair in front of her and held them to her eyes; even in the darkness of the hall, she could see what it was.

"Blood," said Mr. Segundus hoarsely from the bottom of the stairs. He clutched the bannister to support himself, and he looked very faint indeed. "Something terrible has happened."

Catherine wiped her hand on her dressing gown and hurried up the stairs. The blood grew thicker with every step until it became a veritable flood seeping out from somewhere above her; she had an uncomfortable idea of its origin, though she prayed she were wrong. She reached the door to Lenora's room just as the final chime of midnight reverberated through the house. Mr. Segundus cried out from the staircase, and Catherine knew a spell had been cast. She threw open Lenora's door.

Lenora knelt on the floor of her room, facing the window and gripping a silver basin that sat in front of her. Her face was bathed in silvery moonlight, and blood streamed from long gashes on her wrists into the overflowing basin. The blood pooling on the floor came up to Catherine's ankles; it was more blood than a human could possibly contain. As Catherine watched, Lenora gasped and her entire body went rigid, then she toppled over backward as though she had been struck. Blood soaked into her hair and nightgown, and her unseeing eyes stared up at the ceiling. Catherine screamed, and the blood continued to flow from the basin like a fountain.

Mr. Segundus appeared behind her, though his presence was not as solid or reassuring as Catherine might have hoped. His eyes were tightly closed. "We must take her downstairs," he said. "Catherine, you must guide me. I cannot see." They managed to lift Lenora between them, though carrying her was a difficult task; she had gone limp, and neither Catherine nor Mr. Segundus were possessed of any great physical strength. They decided to deposit Lenora on Mr. Segundus's bed; it was the closest and most convenient, and Catherine was sure that the nature of the situation would forestall any accusations of impropriety.

Mr. Segundus fumbled in his magical kit on top of his dresser for a moment, then pressed a small iron cross into Catherine's hands. "Heal her," he said. "I'm going to try to put an end to the spell." He hurried out of the room.

Catherine turned to Lenora, panic clouding her mind. The lady was breathing, but just barely, and her eyes were glassy. Catherine muttered the words to Restoration and Rectification; she felt the magic leave her body like water pouring forth from a jug, but the wounds on Lenora's arms refused to heal. She cast the spell again, more forcefully this time, but still to no avail. Catherine took several deep breaths and forced herself to think back to the basic first aid lessons her mother had taught her. First, she must stop the bloodflow. She cast about for something she could use to tie a tourniquet; nothing came to hand, so she took a knife from Mr. Segundus's kit and sliced into the hem of her own nightgown. As she bound Lenora's wounds as best as she could, Catherine noticed something odd. When she tilted her head just so and lowered her eyelids just enough, she could see faint glimpses of some dark, tarry magic pooling at Lenora's wrists and in the back of her throat. Catherine touched the darkness, just the barest brush of her fingers, and a bolt of coldness coursed through her body. She was chilled to the bone in an instant, as though she had been wandering the highlands for hours in a blizzard.

By the time she had recovered, Lenora had already started to bleed through her bandages, so Catherine added another layer and wrapped it even tighter. Thomas's terrified face appeared in the doorway then, followed— impossibly— by Childermass.

"Where is he?" Childermass asked gruffly. His eyes were even darker than usual, and his mouth was a thin, harsh line.

Catherine didn't need to ask who he meant. "Upstairs," she said. "The blood..." Childermass strode away without another word, and Catherine looked to Thomas. "Gather the servants in the kitchen. They'll be safe there."

"Is there owt we can do, miss?" he asked. His voice trembled, but he looked resolute.

Catherine shook her head. "No. Just get everyone out of the way." Thomas nodded and hurried back to the servants' quarters. "Ah, Lenora, why would you do this?" Catherine muttered, more to herself than the lady. She propped Lenora's hands up on pillows to weaken the flow of blood then checked her pulse. It was steady but faint; Catherine wasn't sure if that was a good sign. She cast Restoration and Rectification one last time, but she wasn't surprised when nothing happened. She supposed the dark magic must be interfering with the spell.

Childermass reappeared, carrying Mr. Segundus; one arm supported Mr. Segundus's back and the other his legs. Mr. Segundus's arm was wrapped around Childermass's neck, and his head lolled back. Childermass unceremoniously deposited him in an armchair and glared at Catherine as if the whole ordeal were  _ her _ fault. "He collapsed," Childermass said, and Catherine noticed then that Mr. Segundus's hair was matted with blood; he looked very insubstantial indeed, as though he were made of mist loosely confined in a person-shaped vessel. Childermass had a white-knuckled grip on the back of Mr. Segundus's armchair, and two bright spots of color had appeared high on his cheeks. Catherine supposed he must be feeling the effects of the spell rather strongly.

"The spell," said Catherine. "Did you put a stop to it?" Childermass nodded, and Catherine exhaled a shaky breath.

"Do you see it?" Childermass asked, his voice rough.

Catherine nodded. "What is it?"

"I don't know,"said Childermass. "The aftereffect of the spell, perhaps." He moved to examine Mr. Segundus, who stirred feebly.

"I never knew we had such a spell in our library." Catherine watched Lenora; the lady barely moved except to breathe. She didn't even blink.

"You don't." Childermass's back was turned to Catherine; she couldn't see his expression, but she suspected he was frowning. "Miss Devereaux must have concocted it herself, the foolish girl. The one good thing in all this mess is that most of the blood upstairs is gone. It was all magic, I s’pose."

Catherine had no response to that, so she turned back to Lenora. As she watched, the lady's breathing grew shorter and faster. "Summat's wrong." Lenora panted, quick and sharp, and began to convulse. "It's choking her!"

Childermass took one last look at Mr. Segundus and crossed the room to the bedside in a few strides. "We must draw it out of her," he growled. "Hold her mouth open."

Catherine pried open Lenora's jaw, and Childermass reached in. "Careful," said Catherine. "It's cold."

Childermass's fingers brushed the dark, viscous magic, and he hissed and withdrew his hand. "I cannot touch it."

Lenora trembled like a leaf, and her eyes rolled back in her head. "It's killing her!" Catherine looked from Childermass to the lady in desperation. "We must get it out."

Childermass let out a sharp cry of frustration and cast about the room. "Fetch me a purified knife." Catherine froze, uncomprehending. "Hurry!" he barked.

Catherine sprang from the bed, and she stumbled in a daze to Mr. Segundus's dresser. She riffled through the carefully-organized case, her hands shaking, until she found a knife bearing a label that read  _ silver blade, purified under the full moon of July 1820 _ in Mr. Segundus's neat handwriting.

"Keep her steady," Childermass said as he took the knife from Catherine's numb hands. She did so to the best of her ability, though Lenora's thrashing had strengthened to the point where Catherine, small as she was, had trouble holding Lenora's shoulders still and her mouth open at the same time.

Childermass took a deep breath as though to fortify himself, and he lowered the blade into Lenora's mouth. He cut the magic away in chunks; it clung to the knife like honey or sap. Lenora's eyes shut and her spasms weakened, but Catherine wasn't sure if it was a sign of the lady recovering or succumbing to the vestiges of the dark magic that coated the back of her mouth. Childermass cut away more and more of it, and Lenora's breathing slowed and deepened. Once, when Childermass withdrew the tar-coated blade from Lenora's mouth, it was smeared with blood. Childermass swore under his breath. "I can't get any more out," he said eventually. A thin film still clung to Lenora's throat, and he sighed. "We shall have to dispel the rest another way."

Catherine's eyes were filled with tears that she refused to allow to fall. "What about her wrists?"

"Aye," said Childermass. He looked wearied to the bone. "I can take care of it." He unwrapped the bandages around the wounds, then slid the knife flat along Lenora's arm as though he were prying a particularly stubborn bit of paste off a slab of wood. He lifted one of Lenora's wrists for Catherine's inspection after he was finished. "It's got into her, see? It's put down roots. I can't get those out."

Catherine half-closed her eyes and tilted her head just so, and indeed, she could see vestiges of the dark magic beneath Lenora's skin. "What will happen to her?"

Childermass shook his head. "I couldn't say." Mr. Segundus murmured something indistinct, and Childermass was at his side in an instant.

Catherine watched them for a moment, then turned back to Lenora. "What have you done, my dear?" she whispered as she smoothed Lenora's bloodstained hair back from her forehead.

Lenora's forehead furrowed, and she made a small, confused noise; the first noise Catherine had heard her make other than her pained gasps as she choked on magic. The lady blinked her eyes once, twice, and focused on Catherine.

Catherine clutched Lenora's hand, and Lenora's fingers twitched feebly. "Can you hear me?"

Lenora tried to speak, but her voice came out as a faint rasp. She nodded instead, a look of pain on her face.

Childermass plodded across the room and loomed at the bedside. "What have you done, you bloody fool girl?" he growled. "You've put us all in danger, and for what?"

Lenora tried to speak again, but a coughing fit took her, and she covered her mouth with her sleeve; the fabric came away bloody.

"Go on then, spit it out." Childermass fixed his darkest glower on Lenora. "What was it all for, eh?"

Lenora shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Let her rest," Catherine said. She moved to block Lenora from Childermass's gaze; an ultimately futile effort, but one she was compelled to nonetheless.

Childermass opened his mouth, but his next words were forestalled.

"John," Mr. Segundus groaned. "Please."

Childermass shot one last scowl at Lenora and retreated to Mr. Segundus's side. The lady curled in on herself, and she seemed to sink into the bed.

Catherine squeezed Lenora's hand. "I'll be right back," she promised. She fetched a basin of water and a cloth from Mr. Segundus's dressing table and cleaned away the blood on Lenora's face and arms as best as she could. "Might I get a clean nightgown from your room?" Lenora nodded, looking miserable, and Catherine hurried to Lenora's room and back as quickly as she could. The men turned their backs while Catherine helped Lenora change. Afterward, Catherine rinsed Lenora's blood-soaked hair in the basin and rebraided it. Lenora bore these ministrations with a sort of limp passivity that Catherine associated with the very ill or infirm. She settled quietly back into the bed, and Catherine clambered in next to her.

"I thought I'd stay here tonight," she said in response to Childermass's surprised expression. "That is, if you don't mind, Mr. Segundus. You may use my room, if you like."

"Nonsense," said Childermass. "Mr. Segundus shall stay in my room." He scooped Mr. Segundus up in his arms once more, ignoring the gentleman's quiet protests. "We shall deal with the mess in the morning. None of us are in a fit state for it now." He carried Mr. Segundus away without another word.

Catherine knew she would get no more sleep tonight. She fetched a book from Mr. Segundus's shelf and blew out the oil lamp, then conjured a dim ball of light that hovered over her shoulder. She settled back against the headboard, propped up on Mr. Segundus's fine pillows. She felt a stab of guilt for ruining so much of his bedding. Lenora murmured sleepily, her eyes half-closed, and Catherine ran the tips of her fingers through the lady's damp hair. "Sleep, my dear," she whispered. "I'll stay here." Lenora soon fell asleep, and Catherine watched over her in a dark, solitary vigil.


	8. Page of Wands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> August 1820

Catherine must have been more exhausted than she thought she was; she awoke late the next morning with a sense of unease and vague memories of her book being taken from her hands as she was coaxed into a proper sleeping position. Lenora was nowhere to be seen, though the bloodstains on Mr. Segundus's bed confirmed that Catherine's memories of the previous night were not just a particularly realistic nightmare. Catherine hurried to her own room and dressed as quickly as she could.

Only one place had been laid at the table in the dining room— or perhaps the others had already eaten, and their plates had been cleared away. Catherine found that she was hungrier than she had expected, and she devoured her eggs and toast with vigor. Childermass interrupted her in the middle of helping herself to a second serving from the buffet.

"You're up, then," Childermass said. He grabbed a scone from the bread basket on the buffet table and leaned against the wall. "Good."

"How did you get here so fast last night?" Catherine sat at the table and indicated the chair opposite her.

Childermass sighed and dropped into the seat. "The cards told me you were in danger."

"Me?" Catherine asked. She was surprised that Childermass had asked the cards about her.

Childermass looked at her as though she were being very stupid. It was not an unfamiliar look. “Segundus."

"Ah." That made more sense.  _ Everyone _ had been in danger, but Childermass had asked about Mr. Segundus. "Are the servants alright?"

Childermass nodded. "As far as they know, there was a minor mishap with magic last night. It was contained, and they have nothing to fear. Hopefully it'll keep out of the papers."

"We don't want a scandal," Catherine agreed. "Where are the young men?"

Childermass glanced at the clock over his shoulder. "They should be on their way by now. I just hope they didn't let Vinculus get up to anything too unsavory." His dark gaze fixed on Catherine. "You need to keep that young lady in check."

"She's not something to be controlled!"

"Nay?" Childermass leaned forward, his face stormy, and Catherine was reminded of all the dark deeds Childermass had done under Mr. Norrell's direction. She imagined the recipients of those deeds felt very much like she did now. "Do you want to undo everything Mr. Segundus and I have worked for these past years?"

Catherine crossed her arms and refused to answer. "Where is she?" she asked instead.

"I've sent her out into the garden with a maid," Childermass muttered. "I don't know what that dark magic is, but I can't imagine it likes the sun, not if it needed to be cast at midnight."

Catherine stood. "I'll go to her. Maybe some herbal magic, a blend of herbs of protection and purification..." She moved to the door, then paused and looked back. "And Mr. Segundus. How is he?"

"It's kind of you to ask." Childermass didn't look as though he thought her particularly kind. "He'll be alright in time."

When Catherine found Lenora, the lady was sitting in the shade of a beech tree with a small tea spread before her and a chattering maid at her side. She looked utterly miserable, and her gloom only increased when she caught sight of Catherine. "Thank you, Anna," Lenora said, cutting the maid off mid-sentence. "You may go." She nodded toward the house.

The maid looked uncertain. "Mr. Childermass said I'm not to leave you alone."

"She won't be alone," said Catherine. "Go on, now." The maid gathered up the empty plates and hurried back to the house with one last worried glance. Catherine took her place on the blanket.

Lenora fidgeted with the sleeve of the spencer jacket she wore despite the heat. "If you're here to dress me down, Childermass has already given me a scolding I won't forget, so don't bother yourself."

"I'm not here to scold you," Catherine said.

"Why then?" asked Lenora. She avoided meeting Catherine's gaze.

"Let me see your wrists." Catherine grabbed Lenora's hand and pushed up her sleeve. The bandages beneath were fresh; Childermass must have changed them. Catherine tilted her head and half-closed her eyes.

"What on Earth are you doing?" Lenora's voice held the faintest trace of amusement.

"Summat got into you last night." Catherine could still see it, just a slight taint of darkness, even through the bandages. "I might be able to get it out with the right herbs, but it'll take some time and some experimentation."

"Yes, Childermass told me as much." Lenora freed her hand from Catherine's grasp and tugged the sleeve of her spencer back into place. "Aren't you going to ask why I did it?"

"Nay." Lenora looked up in surprise, but Catherine stared out across the moor. "I know very well why. I read your letter."

"How dare you! You had no right."

Catherine felt anger surge within her, but she pushed it down. Anger would solve nothing. "Honestly, what were you trying to accomplish? Why not cast a simple spell to make the land more profitable in the coming years, or something equally harmless?"

"I could hardly travel to Hereford to bless the land, could I? I'd never get away again. And it had to be fast. My brother's debts—" Lenora's voice broke. "My brother's debts are considerable. It was clear to me that I needed an immediate solution."

"Why didn't you just tell me?" Catherine asked, frustration coloring her voice. "Am I not to be trusted?"

Lenora glared at her. "Apparently not, if you read my private correspondence."

Catherine sighed, and they sat in silence for some time. "Why blood magic?" Catherine asked several minutes later. "You know how dangerous it is, especially if you've never done it before."

"But I have," said Lenora. "Done it before, I mean."

Of all the answers Catherine had been expecting, that was not one of them. "You what? Not here, surely."

Lenora shook her head. "No, before I came here. Mostly I used it for healing, you see, before I learned Restoration and Rectification."

"Healing with blood magic?" Catherine repeated, incredulous. "I never heard of such a thing."

"It's not so odd as all that.  _ Quid pro quo _ , as they say."

"But blood magic is—"  _ evil _ , Catherine had been about to say, but that wasn't entirely true, was it? It was no more evil than herbal magic was essentially good; Catherine's experience had taught her as much, even if her prejudices, fading but still present, were altogether different.

Lenora raised an eyebrow as if she saw Catherine's thoughts. "Whatever else blood magic may be, it's useful. I can do it nearly untrained; it's almost as natural to me as breathing."

"That's not a good thing!"

"Why not? I only ever spill my own blood, and I can't tell you how many lives I've saved with it."

Catherine was struck dumb. She had no idea how to respond. "You don't have any scars," she said instead.

"Not anymore." Lenora fingered the edge of the bandage that just barely poked out of her sleeves. "I read in a periodical about a charm to remove unwanted blemishes."

Catherine poured herself a cup of tea, and her anger slowly ebbed as she sipped. She knew she  _ should _ be angry; Lenora had been exceedingly reckless, but there was no malice in the lady. "Something went wrong last night. What was it?"

"I'm not sure. I lost control of it somehow."

"Or never had control of it in the first place."

Lenora's mouth twisted in a grimace. "Yes, I suppose that's possible." She took a deep breath. "Am I to leave Starecross?"

Catherine took a moment to consider her answer. "Where would you go if you did?"

"Not Hereford, certainly." Lenora laughed without mirth. "I suppose I might go abroad. I imagine an Englishwoman magician would be welcome at the tables of any number of lords and ladies on the Continent. If I need money, I can make myself available at village hospitals and private practices."

"Would you be happy living like that?" Catherine didn't have to ask; she already knew the answer. Lenora would never be happy in exile, even a self-imposed one, cut off from England and the source of her magic. Catherine knew this because she was the same; perhaps she and Lenora were more alike than she wanted to admit in the light of Lenora's transgressions.

Lenora caught Catherine's eye, and she smiled sadly. "Not really. But it's better than being forced to marry some odious man and spending the rest of my days as a possession."

"Well, then," said Catherine as she poured herself another cup of tea. "The matter's settled. You won't be leaving."

Lenora leaned forward, and she clutched at Catherine's hand. "Do you really mean it?"

"It's not for me to say, you know." Catherine sighed. "I doubt Mr. Segundus will want you gone, for your own safety if nothing else. Childermass will bluster about like he always does, but he'll listen to Mr. Segundus. They'll accept you back ready enough."  _ And you? _ Lenora's expression asked, but she didn't voice the question, and Catherine didn't answer it; just as well, for she had no idea what she'd say.

Lenora looked over to the herb garden a few paces away then back to Catherine. When she spoke, she sounded as though she were forcing a lightness of spirit into her tone that she didn't feel. "So, which herbs shall I take to cure myself of this darkness?"

"You tell me," said Catherine. "Let's see what you've learned."

Lenora took to the task of concocting a purifying potion with single-minded intent, if not happiness. "I can still feel it," she muttered to Catherine as though afraid of being overheard. She plucked a stem of thyme with more vigor than necessary, and Catherine frowned. "At the back of my throat. It's like it's choking me."

Catherine laid her hand on Lenora's shoulder for a moment. "We'll soon get you sorted."

"What will we tell the young men?"

"Not the truth, I imagine," Catherine scoffed. Tom would be impressed, and William might come around to it in time— his position as Lord Wellington's aide-de-camp had instilled in him a firm sense of practicality, though it hadn't dimmed his spirit— but Henry was a gentleman through and through. He would be appalled.

Lenora nodded in agreement. "No. I'll have to come up with something." She shifted over a few paces. "Rosemary as well, do you think?"

"Aye," said Catherine. "And perhaps peppermint for its healing properties. Anything more?"

Lenora considered for a moment. "No," she said uncertainly. "If we add much more, it may become... confused."

"That's not how I'd put it, but you're right." Despite the situation, Catherine was pleased at Lenora's scholarship. She had developed a strong intuition about plants and herbal magic. Perhaps there was hope for the lady yet, if only her magical efforts could be redirected toward green and growing things and away from silver knives and basins filled with blood and other images that made Catherine's stomach churn.

"That's exactly how you'd put it." Lenora smiled wryly. "In fact, I believe I've heard you put it just that way before."

"Aye, I suppose you're right again." Catherine looked down at the pile of herbs they had collected between them. "This is enough for now. Let's make you some tea." As they made their way back around to the front of the house, Catherine spotted the carriage, presumably carrying William, Henry, and Tom. She waved, though the young men were likely too far away to see, and a thought struck her. "You asked the young men about blood magic."

Lenora had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes. I was hoping to ascertain the... position that the Academy takes." She furrowed her brow. "How did you know that? You were asleep."

"I was only napping," Catherine said defensively. In truth, she  _ had _ been asleep, but Tom had mentioned it to her in passing conversation. She had thought it unimportant, just a young scholar's natural curiosity about a new branch of knowledge. Perhaps if she hadn't disregarded it, the current situation would never have arisen. "Don't you change the subject. Why did you want to know the Academy's position?"

"Why do you think?" Lenora pushed the door open and waved Catherine into the hall. "I was hoping to learn more about it. I was almost entirely self-taught, you know. I had barely any books, and certainly no one else to tutor me." They stepped into the empty kitchen. Lenora sighed as Catherine put a kettle of water on the range to boil. "The first time I did it— blood magic, I mean— I thought it was the Devil's work. I confessed to a priest. I'm sure it was the strangest confession he ever heard.  _ Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have saved a man's life through a miracle _ ." Lenora sat down in a chair against the wall, and Catherine leaned against the long table running down the center of the kitchen.

"Why are you telling me this?" Catherine asked without looking at the lady. The table edge dug into her back, but she refused to move.

"Don't you want to know?" Catherine didn't answer, and Lenora continued. "I... struggled with it for some time. The priest told me that what I did was certainly a sin and the work of the Devil, but how could it be? I was healing people; how could that be evil?"

Realization dawned on Catherine. "That's what made you question your beliefs, like you said before."

"Yes." Lenora said nothing more, and silence fell in the kitchen until the water in the kettle boiled.

Catherine washed the herbs and cast them into the boiling water. When she judged the brew to be sufficiently fragrant, she murmured an incantation and poured the tea through a strainer into a cup.

The china wasn't very fine, but Lenora accepted it anyway with a grateful nod. She sipped at it and made a face. "Some sugar, perhaps?"

"I don't think so," Catherine said. "It may disrupt the balance of the herbs."

"It wouldn't," said Lenora, but she didn't look very certain, and she didn't press the issue. She finished the rest of her tea with only the occasional grimace at the taste, and Catherine crossed her arms and watched her out of the corner of her eye. When she was finished, Lenora closed the few steps between them and tilted Catherine's chin up with a gentle hand.

Catherine met the lady's eyes unwillingly, and every hurt feeling, every harsh word, every pang of heartache that she had been suppressing came rushing to the forefront of her mind all at once. Her eyes filled with tears, and she couldn't prevent them from falling.

"I have not properly apologized to you," Lenora whispered. Her breath smelled green and bitter, and she wiped away Catherine's tears with her thumb. "Catherine, I am so very sorry that I put you, and everyone else in this hall, in danger. Desperation made me foolish, but that is no excuse. I was wildly irresponsible, and I thought only of myself. I shall do nothing of the sort again. I intend to do whatever I can to earn your forgiveness and your esteem, even though I know I deserve neither."

Catherine felt very cold and then very hot, and her arms erupted in gooseflesh. Lenora's eyes had a ring of gold around the pupil; it was mesmerizing. Had Catherine ever noticed it before? She must have, but for some reason this was the first time she could remember. She trembled all over. Catherine was at a crossroads, she knew. She closed her eyes, and she saw two roads leading forth from this one insignificant moment in the kitchen of Starecross Hall like two winding fairy paths. One light and one dark, both uncertain. One with Lenora and one without, but which was which? She had no map for a journey such as this, and once she set off down a path, she might not be able to return.

Lenora pressed her forehead to Catherine's, their lips almost meeting but not quite. Catherine understood the gesture for what it was— an invitation. The lady was at the halfway point, waiting for Catherine to meet her there. The memory of telling Lenora's fortune came to Catherine unbidden. She almost laughed when she remembered the final card she had turned over: the Page of Wands.  _ Don't lose your chance _ , the wisdom of the card proclaimed. This was Lenora taking her chance.

Catherine chose her path.

"It will take time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You must be patient with me." She pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Lenora's lips.

Lenora made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sigh of relief. "You have earned more patience than I could ever give you, I think."

"I certainly hope that's not true." Catherine took hold of both of the lady's hands. She felt light, almost buoyant—  _ hopeful _ , her mind supplied— and happier than she'd been since she and Lenora had returned from Thirsk. It had only been a few days, but it seemed like much longer. "Come along. You should apologize to Mr. Segundus, if you haven't already." She frowned. "Though maybe not in  _ quite _ the same way."

"No?" Lenora linked her arm with Catherine's as they made their way through the twisted corridors to Childermass's room. "I think it might help my case, don't you?"

"You tart!"

Lenora pretended to be shocked. " _ Me _ , a tart? I've seen the way you look at Tom; you have no cause to judge."

"Oh, me and Tom, eh?" Catherine laughed. "When you're the one leading sweet William around by his bollocks."

Lenora laughed as well, clutching Catherine's arm. "The poor boy. I'm going to have to break his heart, aren't I?"

"Just make sure Flora Greysteel's there to pick up the pieces. I saw her eyeing him last time she visited." Their friendly banter felt rather forced to Catherine, but she clung to the sense of normalcy it provided. Too many things had gone far too wrong in the past day, and she needed a reminder that they might return to  _ rightness _ at some point. They reached Childermass's door, and Catherine rapped sharply on the dark wood.

A faint rustling came from behind the door. "Come in," Mr. Segundus called. Catherine pushed open the door to see him and Childermass on opposite sides of the room, feigning nonchalance with varying degrees of success. Mr. Segundus, propped up on pillows on the bed, had a dazed and slightly tumbled air about him. Childermass sat in an armchair with a newspaper in hand, looking more rumpled than usual.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I hope we're not interrupting."

"Interrupting?" Mr. Segundus repeated. His voice sounded strained. "Of course not. What would you be interrupting?"

Lenora clasped her hands in front of her skirt, and Catherine glanced at her with concern. Lenora must be nervous if she had to physically restrain herself from fidgeting. "I wanted to apologize."

"You'd better," Childermass drawled. Mr. Segundus shot him a sharp look, and he rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath. "Help me prepare a luncheon spread, will you?" he said to Catherine. "Cook's in the village for the day."

"You're not a servant in this house," protested Mr. Segundus. He struggled to sit up fully. "Neither of you are."

Childermass paused halfway across the room and watched Mr. Segundus with an expression of such tenderness that Catherine had to look away. "Let us do this for you." Mr. Segundus nodded after a moment.

Catherine squeezed Lenora's hand discreetly and stepped out of the room, Childermass close behind. They made their way back downstairs to the kitchen, where Catherine piled several wedges of cheese and a sliced loaf of bread onto a serving tray. Childermass found a shoulder of roasted ham in the larder and cut a small pile of thin slices. He took entirely too much time arranging the slices nicely on a plate, and Catherine crossed her arms. Childermass took one look at the expression on Catherine's face and seemed to resign himself to an uncomfortable conversation. "Out with it, then."

"I was going to ask the cards about you and Mr. Segundus," Catherine said. "But it seems I no longer need to." For the second time that day, she put a kettle of water on to boil.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Childermass muttered as he filled a pot with water and set it next to Catherine's kettle. "The man's impossible. I can't tell what he wants half the time, and the other half—” He cut himself off when he caught sight of Catherine's smug expression. "Don't start thinking this means all is forgiven."

"Certainly not," Catherine said, and Childermass squinted at her as though he weren't sure if she was joking or not. She arranged a simple tea service but paused before laying out the teacups. "How many cups?"

Childermass frowned as he slipped a handful of eggs into the boiling pot with a series of quiet  _ plops _ . The steam rising from the pot made the ends of his ragged hair curl. "Two, I think. Mr. Segundus and I will eat in my room. You and the others can fend for yourselves."

Catherine huffed, but she didn't truly mind his rudeness; it was only his way of expressing familiarity. When Childermass was overly polite, even to the point of deference, Catherine knew to be worried. "Put a few more eggs in there for the rest of us, will you?" Childermass obliged, and Catherine started the tea brewing. Tom Levy burst into the kitchen, with William Hadley-Bright and Henry Purfois not far behind, effectively halting any further attempts by Catherine to tease Childermass.

"Welcome back, gentlemen," Childermass said. "I trust you didn't lose track of Vinculus?"

"They did not." Vinculus appeared in the doorway with a scowl, his matted hair even longer and dirtier than usual.  _ At least he's wearing a shirt this time _ , Catherine mused. "I don't suppose I might get a bite to eat?"

Catherine set a few slices of bread and ham and a wedge of cheese on a plate, and Vinculus made to step into the kitchen.

"Go eat in the drawing room," Childermass ordered. Vinculus grumbled but remained in the hall. "You're not to be in the kitchen. I won't have you make the potatoes sprout again."

Vinculus accepted his meager lunch with a leer at Catherine. She wasn't intimidated, and she glared back until Vinculus turned in a swirl of dirty fabric and rotten breath and set off down the hall.

"It seems we're on our own for luncheon today," Catherine said as she hefted the tea tray in her arms. "Mr. Segundus isn't well, so he'll be eating in his room." Henry looked rather put out by this news, but Tom and William accepted it with good grace.

Tom laid out five plates around the central kitchen table, then paused. "Will Miss Devereaux be joining us?" he asked of Catherine.

"Aye." Catherine adjusted her load. "Please excuse me, gentlemen. This is rather heavy."

"I could take that up," Childermass said quietly as he lifted the luncheon tray.

Catherine shook her head. "You're not a servant here," she said just as quietly. Childermass frowned but didn't protest when she led the way upstairs. They met Lenora in the lobby, looking rather lost. "The young men are in the kitchen," Catherine told her. "We thought we'd eat there today, since Mrs. Price is in the village." Catherine raised an eyebrow and tilted her head in a manner that was meant to convey  _ Did everything go quite alright upstairs? _

"That sounds very nice," Lenora said. She gave Catherine a tiny smile and nod that said  _ Yes, Mr. Segundus accepted my apology and I shall remain at Starecross Hall. _ At least, Catherine hoped it did.

Catherine left both the tea tray and Childermass with Mr. Segundus and rejoined the other young magicians in the kitchen. Lenora was in the middle of concocting an elaborate story to explain the bandages on her wrists; Catherine had missed most of it, but it involved a cursed tree and a loose rock. They ate standing around the kitchen table in a manner that Catherine was sure would have earned them a scolding from Mrs. Price if she had caught them. Henry didn't object, but he put on a rather snooty air. He insisted on fetching himself both a water glass and a glass for wine, though he filled neither, as well as a spread of utensils he wouldn't need.

Tom raised his eyebrow at this. "Not happy to eat in the kitchen like working-class folk, are we, Mr. Purfois?"

"I like things to be done properly," Henry replied stiffly.

"Oh, aye." Tom rolled his eyes. "And if things were done proper, according to your tastes, the likes of me and the ladies wouldn't be here, is that right?"

"You know it's not!" Henry set down his knife and fork with more force than necessary. "I was Mr. Strange's pupil, same as you, remember? Don't act like I'm a  _ Norrellite _ ."

Lenora watched this exchange with wide eyes, and Catherine leaned close to William by her side. "What's going on?" she whispered.

"The Society meeting didn't go very well last night," muttered William. "Old Foxcastle kept talking over Tom, and Henry's translation of the King's Letters got laughed at. He's never been good with languages, poor chap," he explained to Lenora. "He can barely speak French."

"Should we separate them?" Lenora asked.

William considered it. "Best let them have it out," he decided. "Otherwise they'll just get bitter."

The argument continued, but Catherine grew bored after a few minutes. She caught Lenora's eye, and the lady gave her a small nod.

William, whose keen eyes had caught the whole silent conversation, indicated that Catherine should go. "I'll make sure they don't kill each other," he said.

Catherine and Lenora escaped to the library, and Lenora looked over one of Mr. Segundus's lesson plans while Catherine browsed the shelves. "I don't know half the spells on this list," Lenora said, and Catherine moved to read it over her shoulder.

"You still have some studying to do, then," Catherine said. "This is for the intermediate students."

Lenora looked worried. "Do you think I'll have time to catch up? Term starts in a few days."

"Will you be here for it?"

Lenora turned to Catherine angrily. "Of course I will! I'm not planning on simply abandoning my magical education because of one stupid mistake. Mr. Segundus asked me to stay, so I shall stay."

"I'm glad," Catherine said, and Lenora's anger cooled. "I want you to stay. I was only asking if your spell worked."

"Oh." Lenora deflated. "Yes, it did. My brother shall receive an unexpected windfall soon."

Catherine grew wary. "Not an inheritance of some kind, surely?"

"What? No!" Lenora looked almost offended that Catherine would suggest such a thing. "No, his riskier investments will simply start to do rather better for a time. I shall write to my family and tell them when to sell their stocks. In return, I expect they won't bother me about marriage for quite a while."

"All this for some money," Catherine said. She sighed and dropped into an armchair, suddenly exhausted.

"No." Lenora settled into the chair opposite Catherine and watched her across the rickety wooden table. "All this for my freedom. I don't think you quite understand what this means for me."

Catherine frowned. "It means you don't have to get married."

"More than that," Lenora said. She had curled her hair that morning; her ringlets bounced when she shook her head. "It means that they can't  _ control _ me any more. My life is my own, now."

Not for the first time that day, Catherine was at a loss for words. She had to admit to herself that Lenora's situation was foreign to her; Catherine had experienced many of the hurdles that English society placed before women, and she had jumped them or gone around or kicked them over at her pleasure. Her father had always been tolerant and encouraging to a fault. She couldn't imagine what her life might have been like had she been forced to curtsey and obey and dance like a puppet on a string as Lenora had. "I'm happy for you," she said finally. "Truly. You deserve freedom, as do we all."

"I know what I'd like to do with my freedom." Lenora's expression was playful, but her eyes held something darker.

Catherine thought she had a fairly good idea of what Lenora wanted. "What's that?" she asked anyway.

Lenora stood and sauntered around the table that separated them. She bent down slowly and placed her hands on the arms of Catherine's chair. Catherine tolerated this for a second before she wrapped her arms around Lenora's waist and pulled the lady onto her lap. Lenora's height made kissing difficult, but Catherine refused to allow her to change positions. Catherine's fingertips dug into Lenora's sides, and the lady broke the kiss to laugh breathlessly. She was ticklish, then. Catherine filed that information away for future use. "Don't. You.  _ Ever _ ." Catherine whispered, punctuating each word with a gentle nip to the curve of Lenora's neck. "Scare me like that again. I  _ will  _ bring down the wrath of all the magic in England upon you."

Lenora pushed at Catherine's shoulders to no avail. "Careful! You'll leave a mark."

"Well then, I suppose you shall just have to cast a spell to get rid of unwanted blemishes." Catherine heard footsteps just outside the library door; Lenora must have heard them as well, for she sprang back into her own chair and plastered an innocent look on her face.

Childermass opened the door and poked his head in. His eyes flicked from Catherine to Lenora and back again, and Catherine fought down a blush. "Can we help you?" she asked when Childermass remained silent.

"Looking for Vinculus," Childermass said.

Catherine shrugged. "I haven't seen him since lunch."

Childermass grunted and retreated without saying a proper goodbye.

Catherine giggled as she watched the color rise in Lenora's cheeks. "Come on," she said. "Let's see if you can't learn some of these intermediate spells."

They spent a pleasant afternoon in the library practicing magic until Childermass shooed them out into the garden for disturbing Mr. Segundus. Catherine half-expected Lenora's magic to feel different after her ordeal; while perhaps there was a melancholy note to the sweet birdsong, and the warmth of the sun was tempered by an autumn breeze, the magic was the same and quintessentially Lenora. By the middle of the afternoon, Lenora declared the day too hot for magic, and they trudged to the creek at the back of the estate and dangled their bare feet in the water. "What does my magic feel like?" Catherine asked over the quiet murmurs of the creek.

Lenora lay back, propped up on her elbows, and stared at the leaves above their heads. "Rain," she replied after a moment. "An afternoon cloudburst in the middle of summer, the kind that kicks up the smell of the heather and cotton-grass." She tilted her face toward Catherine. "It's very Northern of you."

Catherine smiled and took the lady's hand, and it felt like another step down the path she had set herself upon. She couldn't see the end, but she resolved to walk it bravely, even without a map.


	9. All Hallows' Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September-October 1920
> 
> Alright folks, here's where the story earns its rating: M for mildly spicy.

The first week of term was as hectic as ever, perhaps even more so due to Catherine's additional tutoring responsibilities. Starecross had taken on three new students for the new term, aside from Lenora; two were brother and sister, and tested into the beginner and intermediate classes respectively. The third was a young boy named Macsen who looked quite timid and overwhelmed. "We'll have to keep an eye on that one," Catherine had said to Lenora when he arrived. "He'll be bullied for being Welsh."

"Who's his tutor?" Lenora had asked.

"Nobody. He's a beginner, so he'll only be taught by Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot."

Lenora had furrowed her brow at that. "I have a bit of Welsh. Perhaps it will comfort him to hear the language of his home. I'll look after him."

That had made Catherine smile as she followed Lenora inside to welcome the new students.

The heather bloomed purple, casting a blueish haze over the lush moorlands, and the trees gradually lost their green. Autumn was Catherine's favorite time of the year. She occasionally wished that she had developed any skill at watercolor so she might capture the unique beauty of a Yorkshire autumn, but her artistic talents only extended as far as cartography. Lenora proved to be her superior in painting, and Catherine was surprised that she didn't mind it at all. On their first free weekend, Catherine took Lenora riding out into the countryside to one of her favorite landscapes. A rocky bluff rose out of the rolling heather, a small, twisted woodland covering one of its sides, and the charming village of Starecross lay in the middle distance. The sky stretched wide and blue above their heads, and Lenora sighed in happiness. "I must stop believing that this country cannot show me a sight more beautiful than the ones I have seen," she said as she set up her easel and paints. "For I am proven wrong every time."

Catherine wanted to say something quite romantic that would have probably earned her a bout of laughter and a friendly swat on the shoulder, but she never got the chance; Lenora wrapped her arms around Catherine's waist and pulled her into a kiss. Catherine nipped at Lenora's bottom lip, which made the lady groan under her breath. Catherine found this rather exciting, so she did it again. Lenora's hips jerked in a tiny, frustrated motion, and she broke the kiss to laugh against the crown of Catherine's head. "Always  _ biting _ ," she said, and she gasped when Catherine tugged at the neckline of her dress.

"Only because you like it so much." Catherine set her lips, then her teeth, against the soft swell of Lenora's breast. A moment later, she found herself on her back with Lenora straddling her. This was patently unfair, so Catherine tugged at Lenora's shoulders until the lady bent down to kiss her, then used what little leverage she could muster to roll them over so she knelt between Lenora's spread thighs. Lenora's back arched when Catherine pressed her mouth to the dip between her breasts, but she froze after a few seconds and pulled Catherine down beside her. Catherine realized why a moment later when a carriage rattled down the nearby road. She laughed and pressed herself closer to the ground, deeper into the heather.

Lenora took Catherine's hand, and for a moment the stones and the moor plants seemed to connect them instead of divide. The bobbing flowers were Lenora's kisses against her skin, and the breeze was Lenora's fingers running through her hair; the very earth was Lenora's body solid and warm beneath her own. The moment passed, but Catherine could tell from Lenora's stunned expression that she had felt it too.

The carriage passed, and Catherine poked her head above the heather to watch it descend into a small valley between the hills. When she looked back at Lenora, propped up on her elbows with her hat askew and her curls mussed by the wind, the lady had an expression of such smoldering intensity that Catherine was tempted to push her back down into the heather and have her there.

Then Lenora sat up fully and straightened her hat over her hair, and Catherine was reminded that she was a proper southern lady, and the roadside moor beneath the heavy sky wouldn't do. Catherine stood and pulled Lenora to her feet. "Best start painting if we want to be back at the house in time for supper," she said.

"I've had a letter from my mother," said Lenora as she painted.

Catherine sat upon a nearby rock and positioned herself so she could admire the landscape and Lenora's profile at the same time. "Aye, I know."

"Did you read that one, too?" Lenora's voice held a trace of acidity, but her expression wasn't angry.

"No," Catherine said. "I saw the outside, that's all, when I took the mail." She paused. "What did your mother say?"

Lenora scoffed in a most unlady-like manner. "Not a word of thanks, naturally. But she did say that I am no longer immediately required to marry for the good of the family, so there's that." She turned to smile sadly at Catherine. "It won't dissuade her permanently, but at least I'll have a small reprieve."

"And when she starts up again, you'll come to me for help to avoid another disaster, aye?"

"Aye," Lenora said, and she laughed at her own poor attempt to imitate Catherine's accent. "Tell me, how are the intermediate classes coming along?"

Catherine launched into a discussion of the younger pupils' accomplishments. Some of it was information that Lenora already knew, but she sensed that the lady wanted something to occupy her mind while her hands were busy with the watercolors. "And they'll be joining us in the garden two or three times a week," she concluded some time later. "To learn herbal magic and botany both."

"Valuable pursuits, indeed." Lenora was a fast painter; she had already nearly completed the sky and the forested bluff, and she began outlining the village in short, sure strokes. Catherine watched the familiar buildings come alive under Lenora's hand. There were the smithy and the bakery, each with a column of grey smoke; there were the tenements rising above narrow streets; there was the small chapel that Catherine visited dutifully every Sunday.

"Mr. Segundus has received a report of a possible fairy road," Catherine said as Lenora painted the wattle-and-daub village school. "I'd thought to investigate next weekend. It's only a few hours' ride away."

Lenora's hand stilled, and she glanced at Catherine. "Shall I be accompanying you?"

"You're my assistant, are you not?" Lenora nodded, smiling, and Catherine continued. "Of course you shall accompany me. We'll speak to Mr. Segundus and make sure you have the weekend free."

Lenora painted steadily through the afternoon and into the early evening, at which point she sighed and laid down her brush. "The light's changed too much," she said. "We'll have to come back tomorrow." And so they did.

Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot were delighted with the painting, and even Childermass gave it an approving sort of nod the next time he visited. Catherine paid to have it framed, and she and Mr. Segundus hung it in the drawing room. Lenora was embarrassed at first, but Mr. Segundus assured her that Mrs. Lennox would not mind her house being redecorated. "It certainly brightens up the room," he declared, and indeed it did, though it looked rather out-of-place amongst the portraits of Mrs. Lennox's dour-faced relatives.

Catherine threw herself into magical scholarship. She wrote an article on the fairy roads she and Lenora explored, as Mr. Segundus had suggested, and submitted it to several periodicals; in late September, she was a published author. Lenora's wounds healed quickly, and the dark magic dissipated over time under a vigorous regimen of healing brews. The faint silvery scars resisted banishment, however. Lenora shrugged this off, but Catherine could tell that she was disappointed by her inability to heal her own body. Weeks slipped by, and All Hallows' Eve approached before Catherine knew it. Mr. Segundus bought a basket of turnips from a nearby farmer, and Catherine and Lenora led the older students in hollowing them out and carving them.

Lenora's carvings alarmed Catherine at first. "Why are you carving a face?" Catherine asked when she caught sight of Lenora's turnip across the kitchen table.

Lenora looked around at the other students' carvings; of the four younger magicians, only one had cut his turnip to resemble a human face. "What else am I supposed to carve?"

"A raven," said Catherine. She showed Lenora her turnip. "So John Uskglass knows to bless our house when he visits on All Hallows' Eve."

"But a Hoberdy's Lantern is supposed to frighten away spirits, not lure them in," Lenora said with a frown.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Midlanders," she muttered, and the young students giggled. "No, we don't want to frighten spirits away, we want to guide them on their journey through this world and into the next."

Lenora raised an eyebrow at that, but she copied Catherine's carving as closely as she could. It turned out rather rough, but Catherine supposed the Raven King wouldn't mind. "What other ghastly traditions do you have here in the north?" Lenora asked after they sent the young magicians away. "Bonfires and guising, I suppose?"

"No guising here, though they do that along the Scottish border." Catherine collected the turnip scraps to add to the compost. "We light a bonfire in the back, and I know the villagers light a few an' all each year. The farmers light torches from the fires and carry them around their fields."

"Fascinating," Lenora said. "I believe the Welsh do something similar."

"Yes, it's a right old tradition. Older than the Raven King, even."

Lenora piled the knives in the sink and began scrubbing. Catherine's surprise must have shown, for the lady laughed. "I am not so grand that I cannot clean up a mess I helped to make. Tell me about some other northern traditions."

"You'll see them for thissen soon enough," Catherine said as she picked up a rag for herself. "Tell me about southern traditions instead."

Lenora obliged, and they spent a pleasant afternoon comparing notes on various manners of celebrating All Hallows' Eve and other holidays. Mr. Segundus joined their conversation before supper; though he was also a southerner, his own experiences from his childhood in the southeast of England were quite different from Lenora's. Catherine found their descriptions of the festivities to be rather dull and lacking in spirit.

"When will Childermass return?" Lenora asked over supper.

Mr. Segundus glanced at Mr. Honeyfoot, who was deep in conversation with William, Henry, and Tom; none of the men noticed his regard. "He's staying another day in London, I believe, but he sent word that he will return for All Hallows' Eve."

"I should hope so." Catherine shot Mr. Segundus a sly look. "I shall make sure we have plenty of hazelnuts, should you want to roast any and see what the future might hold."

Mr. Segundus took a gulp of wine to hide his expression, but Catherine could tell that he was blushing.

The young magicians were far too excited to pay attention to lessons on the day of All Hallows' Eve; Catherine couldn't blame them, for she too felt a current of energy moving through the air. All the colors of the world seemed brighter and more lively, and the sky appeared to have retreated or expanded upward, as though the very atmosphere had taken a deep breath in anticipation. Catherine knew that the sky would once more settle heavy overhead before too long. The fallen leaves and abandoned stalks of grain would soon begin to wither in the fields and release their mouldering into the air. It would be a barren time of death and decay, and it always made Catherine feel delightfully somber. But that time had not yet arrived; for now, the air was full of the sounds and the smells of life.

William, Henry, and Tom had purchased a crate of rather fine Madeira wine as a surprise for Mr. Segundus; he was delighted and insisted that all of the older magicians should have a glass with afternoon tea, despite the early hour. "A toast to John Uskglass, the Raven King," Mr. Segundus said cheerfully. "Long may he haunt us!"

"That seems rather disrespectful," Lenora muttered to Catherine after they drank.

"We're his subjects, here in the north," Catherine said. "It's our right to be disrespectful." Lenora raised an eyebrow but quaffed her wine nonetheless.

Childermass arrived not long after with Vinculus in tow. He gave the carved turnips an approving nod and produced a handful of short candles specially-made for the purpose of lighting the lanterns. "They'll burn for a good long while," he said. "And they'll keep a steady flame even outside." As the sun set, he took the young magicians outside and taught them a spell to light the candles. Many of the older ones had done it before, but the new students and the beginners were quite delighted. Little Macsen was so astonished by his own prowess that he could scarcely take his eyes off his candle-filled turnip. Childermass and the young magicians placed the turnips along the garden wall, and the candles flickered in the growing darkness, warding spirits away or guiding them home as they might. The effect was rather eerie. From inside the house, it almost looked as though the tiny points of light were floating in the garden like will-o'-th'-wisps. Catherine shivered but refused to be frightened.

When Catherine wandered out to the back of the house, wineglass in hand, she found William and Henry building a rather clumsy bonfire in a ring of stones while Tom handed out apples and soul cakes to the children. "It seems strange that I never asked," Catherine said to Tom. "But do the tenets of your religion allow you to celebrate All Hallows' Eve?"

"My father would say  _ nay _ ." Tom offered her an apple, but she declined. "By rights, I should not involve myself in any gentile custom. But my mother was Spanish, so I think I can get away with it." His dark eyes twinkled with mischief. "Perhaps I'll teach the children a traditional Spanish Hallowmas dance."

Catherine laughed. "Is there such a dance?"

"Possibly," said Tom with a shrug. "In any case, I don't know it, so I shall have to make one up."

William and Henry, after struggling for several minutes to light the bonfire by mundane means, had now decided to cast a spell and were arguing over what form it might take. Their argument was resolved when Childermass strode into the garden, kicked the logs and branches into a better position, and lit the fire with a wave of his hand and a muttered incantation. Seconds later, the fire was crackling merrily. William and Henry looked properly abashed. The flickering flames did strange things to the lines on Childermass's face and the shadows of his hair, and he appeared quite otherworldly where he stood half in light and half in gloom.

The footmen— a local boy was hired annually for the duration of the term to assist Thomas in his duties— lugged a large wooden basin out into the yard and filled it with water. Tom organized a game of duck-apple among the younger students, though Catherine had to intervene to prevent him from tying the children's arms behind their backs. Lenora and Mr. Segundus came outside bearing blankets and hampers of food; Mr. Segundus sighed at the state of the festivities. "The servants wanted to join the celebrations in the village," he said when Catherine looked askance at the baskets. Indeed, only a few minutes later, the school carriage rattled down the road on the way to Starecross. Catherine helped spread the blankets around the bonfire, and the students took to the impromptu picnic with delight. More than one young lady snuck their bobbed apples into their pockets, surely hoping for dreams of their future sweethearts later that night.

Catherine and Lenora claimed a blanket some distance from the fire, and Catherine offered the lady a couple of hazelnuts. "Care to learn of your future?"

Lenora shook her head as she poured them both a glass of wine. "I'm surprised you hold with such forms of divination."

"I read the cards of Marseilles," said Catherine with a small laugh. "I have no quarrel with divination."

"That's different." The wind shifted direction, and Lenora conjured a weak breeze to direct the smoke off to the side. "The cards are magic. Those—" Lenora nodded to the hazelnuts in Catherine's hand. "—are pagan traditions. I suppose I'm a heretic, so I don't mind, but I wouldn't expect you to put any stock in them."

"I'm not entirely sure I do." Catherine set the hazelnuts aside and buttered a slice of bread. "But who's to say there's no magic in things like this? Can we know for sure that all these ancient traditions aren't the remnants of the magic that was done before the Raven King's time?" She watched Tom lead a few of the older students in an improvised dance around the bonfire, and for a while, she could imagine that it was an earlier time, long before the Raven King had conquered northern England, before even Christianity had spread to the isles. Catherine knew little of the druids, and she didn't trust many of the writings of scholars— they were far too eager to twist historical fact to suit their own beliefs on the magic of their times. Still, she supposed the druids must have made alliances of their own with the natural forces of the world. Perhaps those had degraded over time as the druidic traditions were suppressed, leaving the spirits of the sky and trees and stones free to ally themselves to the Raven King. Catherine briefly considered asking about it, but she supposed that other magicians wouldn't appreciate her reminding the spirits of their previous allegiances.

"Exploring the corners of your mind again?" Lenora asked when Catherine came back to herself.

"Something like that." Catherine glanced around the yard. Most of the students had gathered around Childermass as he regaled them with the story of Jenny Greenteeth. Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot were drinking with William, Henry, and Tom. Most importantly, none of them were paying any attention to Catherine and Lenora. "Let's go inside."

"What's inside?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "A bed."

"Oh." Lenora considered it, and a slow smile spread across her face. "Yes, alright then."

Catherine and Lenora retreated from the light of the bonfire and slipped back into the house under the cover of shadow. The lady paused to kiss Catherine rather daringly on the staircase, but Catherine pulled away after a minute. "Too risky," she whispered. "Let's go upstairs." They passed by Lenora's old bedroom— she had moved to a new room after the Blood Magic Incident— and Lenora shivered. Catherine wasn't sure if it was just because of the memories of the place or if some residual magic still lingered, but she gave Lenora's hand a reassuring squeeze anyway.

They reached Catherine's room, and she secured the door by lock and ward. The room was quite dark, almost pitch-black except for the silvery light of the half-moon and the low fire in its grate. Catherine summoned a few globes of light that shone like blue-white candle flames and sent them drifting to the ceiling.

"How charming," Lenora said, and she imitated Catherine's spell.

Catherine smiled at the look of wonder on Lenora's face and crossed the dim room to shut the window and draw the curtains. The old house was silent around them, and even the noise of the magicians outside didn't reach the room. Catherine felt as though a thin film of magic was draped across the room, clinging to any surface it could find, and the slightest touch could send it billowing. It was an electrifying feeling; her skin buzzed with energy. She ran her hands up Lenora's arms, just to feel the little sparks of magic beneath her fingertips, and the lady shivered despite the nearby fire. "You have such lovely hair," Catherine said. She removed the pins that held Lenora's braid coiled atop her head. Lenora tried to help comb out the braid, but Catherine gently pushed her hands away. "Let me do this for you."

"I have too much of it. It's heavy." Lenora sighed in pleasure as Catherine massaged her scalp, and Catherine carefully guided them both to sit down on the edge of her bed. "Although this feels quite nice, I rather thought you had something else in mind for tonight." She looked at Catherine over her shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes.

Catherine was taken aback by the lady's boldness; she decided that she liked it. When they kissed, Lenora tasted of the wine they had shared earlier. Catherine pressed her down against the counterpane and straddled her hips.

"It seems strange," Lenora said as she unpinned Catherine's carefully-coiffed hair. "As much as I want to, I don't quite know... how to proceed."

Catherine's dark hair, wavy and rumpled, fell over her shoulder and onto the fabric by Lenora's face. "Nor do I, exactly," she admitted. "I suppose I must do what I do when investigating a fairy road I have never been down before." She trailed her hands down Lenora's sides, and the lady giggled at the teasing touch. "I shall have to explore right thoroughly."

"Did you just compare this— with  _ me _ — to wandering down a fairy road?" Lenora laughed and gave Catherine's shoulder a playful cuff. "Honestly, Catherine."

"Not wandering," Catherine insisted. " _ Exploring _ . It's different." That set Lenora off in peals of laughter, but Catherine didn't mind. She quite liked the sound of it, and she let it go on for another few moments before she cut it off with a kiss.

After a few failed attempts, they decided that it would be easier to leave the bed to undress. "This really is rather difficult," Catherine said as she undid the dozens of tiny buttons that ran down Lenora's spine. "I can see why great ladies usually have their lady's maids undress them before their husbands enter to meet them."

"Don't let's talk of husbands. You'll put me off." Lenora shed her dress and stood before Catherine in only her chemise. The nearly-transparent garment hung loosely from her shoulders, following the narrow curves of her body. "I feel rather naked, with you still dressed."

"Yes, that's the general idea." Catherine untied the lacings and drew the thin chemise over Lenora's head. The lady stood in front of her, fully nude. She didn't fidget or squirm beneath Catherine's gaze, but Catherine knew her well enough to sense her anxiety. "Beautiful," Catherine whispered as she dragged her fingernails lightly over Lenora's hip; it wasn't hard enough to leave a mark, but Lenora shivered. Catherine pulled her into another kiss, one arm around Lenora's waist and the other around her shoulders, and the lady clung to her warmth.

"Should we... wash ourselves, before?" Lenora asked a few minutes later, her lips pink and slightly swollen from kissing.

Catherine considered it. "Yes, I think so." They washed with their backs turned to spare one another the embarrassment of performing the rather undignified act with an audience. Catherine considered this a silly exercise, since she planned to soon have Lenora trembling and shameless on the bed, but she sensed that the lady would value the extra bit of privacy before then.

Lenora tugged at the shoulders of Catherine's dress. "Your turn." The lady's voice was faint and rather shaky.

"Not quite," Catherine said. She sat upon the bed and pulled Lenora to her.

Lenora lay down willingly enough and did not protest when Catherine kissed her way down her torso, but she gasped when Catherine's mouth reached its destination. "Are you—  _ ah! _ — are you sure that's quite proper?"

Catherine looked up from where she knelt between Lenora's legs. "I'm not sure anything about this is proper."

"Oh." Lenora's head fell back on the pillow, and her thighs hesitantly fell open at Catherine's coaxing. "I suppose you may proceed, then."

Catherine raised her eyebrow at that, but she bent to her task once more. She took great delight in finding out all the noises Lenora might make, and by the end, she was grateful for the silencing spell she had woven into her door-ward.

After she came down from her high, Lenora smiled sheepishly at Catherine and untangled her hands from Catherine's hair. She stretched out on the counterpane in a way that brought Catherine's own need— hitherto ignored— to the front of her mind. "Lenora—" Her voice broke. She couldn't find the words to ask for what she wanted. "Please."

Lenora's nimble fingers tugged at the ties of Catherine's dress, and Catherine gave thanks that she had donned a simple outfit for the day. She was soon laid bare, one of her legs draped over Lenora's shoulder. While she had been content to tease and draw Lenora to her peak slowly, the lady set about bringing Catherine pleasure with single-minded intent. It wasn't long before Catherine's back arched off the bed, and she gasped Lenora's name to the orbs of light that drifted about the ceiling.

They lay together in a tangle of sleepy limbs afterward. At some point, they made their way under the counterpane, and Catherine stoked the fire with a spell against the late autumn chill.

"I love watching you do magic," Lenora murmured against Catherine's shoulder. "You're so... matter-of-fact about it, as though it's the simplest thing in the world."

"I haven't always been. It was different, back when magic first came back. I was in the room with Childermass when he announced it, you know. Mr. Segundus was there, an' all." Catherine's brow furrowed. "I don't ever want magic to become commonplace."

Lenora threaded her fingers through Catherine's. "It can be common without being commonplace. Magic will always be a wonder to those of us who study it and love it." She dragged them both out of bed a few minutes later to perform their nighttime routines. "It won't take long," she promised when Catherine grumbled.

"We won't always be able to do this," Catherine said as she plaited Lenora's hair. "To stay after, I mean."

Lenora smiled sadly at her. "I know. But I'd like to tonight, at least. If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." Catherine pressed a kiss to the lady's cheek and drew her back to bed.

Lenora fell asleep not long after, but Catherine stayed awake. Something itched at the back of her mind and made her restless. Their summoned lights had winked out long ago, but the magic sheen in the room hadn't dissipated. Just before midnight, Catherine disentangled herself from Lenora and drew on her dressing gown. She made sure Lenora was still sleeping, the counterpane rising and falling slightly with each breath, and paced the room. She found herself drawn to the window; despite the chill, she flung it open and stuck her head out.

A dark-clad figure on a dark horse rode down the lane to the school. He paused before the garden wall and examined the many turnips, still glowing with magical candlelight. His pale face was mostly in shadow, but Catherine could tell that his features were handsome. A raven called nearby. The man looked up to see Catherine, clutching her dressing gown close about her shoulders. He tipped his hat to her, and his long, flowing black hair swirled in the wind that chilled Catherine to the bone. He set off down the road a moment later.

Catherine closed the window and returned to bed. When she awoke the next morning, Lenora by her side, she couldn't be sure that the man by the garden had been anything more than a dream.


	10. A Path Between Two Beings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 1920
> 
> A final thanks to pablo360 for giving me the idea for these last two chapters!

The first snowfall of the year came early. Only a few centimeters fell, but the younger students were excited to play nonetheless. Tom taught them all a spell that created a tiny vortex of air, and the students created a game of it. Catherine didn't understand the rules, but the young magicians had great fun spinning flurries of snowflakes at each other until they were shivering and red in the face. Mr. Honeyfoot complained of the cold settling into his bones. Catherine overheard a few uncomfortable conversations over the course of a chilly November between him and Mr. Segundus about retirement. The idea disquieted her. He was one of Mr. Segundus's dearest friends, she knew, and he was just as much a founder of the school as Mr. Segundus was. Starecross Academy would be entirely different without Mr. Honeyfoot.

Childermass left a few days after the first snow. He didn't want to delay, but Mr. Segundus insisted that he wait until the roads were clearer, for Vinculus's sake if not for his own. This was the argument that persuaded Childermass to stay, and Mr. Segundus had a wounded air that persisted for several days after Childermass rode away into a bleak November morning. "I feel like my life is centered around watching the rest of you come and go," Mr. Segundus said as he and Catherine watched the black smudges of Childermass and Vinculus disappear over a barren hill. "The gentlemen go to York every month, and you and Miss Devereaux have your map to work on. The students come and go each term, and Childermass goes when he wants, of course. And here I stay, in the middle of it all."

"Are you discontent, Mr. Segundus?" Catherine asked.

Mr. Segundus furrowed his brow as he thought. "No, I don't believe so." He glanced over his shoulder at the snow-covered school. "I am happier than I ever dared to hope I might be. Only I feel... stationary, in a way."

"Perhaps you should take a sabbatical." Mr. Segundus laughed once in disbelief, and Catherine frowned. "I mean it. Go around England with Childermass and Vinculus. Or go somewhere else, and take Childermass with you, and one of the gentlemen can travel with Vinculus."

Mr. Segundus shook his head. "And who would run the school while I'm away?"

"Mr. Honeyfoot," Catherine replied. "And me. You can teach me."

"As delightful as it sounds, I don't think it would be so simple." Mr. Segundus turned to go inside, and Catherine followed. Despite his dismissive attitude, Catherine knew he was considering it.

Around the middle of November, the Yorkshire sky took on an almost-permanent overcast. Without her work in the garden, Catherine felt tense and restive. It afforded her more time for tutoring; she enjoyed teaching the younger students spells and magical scholarship, but she missed her quiet mornings outside with Lenora. As the temperature dropped, and as she was obliged to spend more and more of the day inside to avoid the winter chill, Catherine grew increasingly restless. She attempted several times to venture out onto the King's Roads, but those were equally cold. She supposed that they reflected the state of England, at least in part. The question of  _ why _ that might be was so fascinating that Catherine spent several days in a scholarly fervor, and only Lenora was able to pull her out of it.

Still, even scholarship was not enough to quell Catherine's desire to be out of doors. She had spent the last few winters at Starecross, but she had not known the joy of wandering across the countryside beneath an open sky then. Now that she had experienced a taste of that freedom, she was loath to give it up. She expressed her frustrations to Lenora, who put on an endlessly sympathetic face — one which Catherine would normally have found reassuring, but which now vexed her.

"I understand," the lady murmured after Catherine finished venting. She sat back in her armchair and smiled at Catherine over the rim of her glass of sherry. "It's awful to feel so trapped."

Catherine stared into the fire. Her initial instinct had been to snap at Lenora that  _ she has no idea what it's like to feel trapped _ , as she might have done if she had been talking to Mr. Segundus or one of the gentlemen magicians. But of course, Lenora was as familiar with the sensation as Catherine herself was, if not more so. Catherine knew she was being rather uncharitable, and she took a long drag of sherry to cover her discomfort.

"Perhaps we could go into York when the weather clears up," suggested Lenora. "We could take the gentlemen, if you'd like. Make an outing of it. Or we could visit Ripon and see how that delightful magic store is getting on. Mr. Segundus never did look in on it."

Catherine glanced out the window at the flurries of snow falling from the dark, steely sky. "Hopefully we can go soon. I feel like I'm going mad in here."

"Despite the Aureate views on madness, I think I quite prefer you sane." The fire crackled and hissed as a knot in the wood burned, and Lenora sank further into her chair. It was a strange sight; Catherine wasn't used to seeing the lady slouching so. Perhaps the sherry was going to her head. Catherine was reminded of the first time she had seen Lenora properly drunk, and she smiled at the memory as Lenora continued. "And besides, given what happened to poor Mr. Strange, I think it best if English magicians steer clear of madness for the foreseeable future."

Catherine had to chuckle at that. "I agree, but try telling that to Vinculus."

The snowfall continued for the next day, but by the end of the week, the weather had cleared enough to make a short journey. Catherine decided she wanted to go into Ripon; only Tom and Lenora accompanied her, as the others were busy with lessons. They wrapped themselves in wools and furs with hot bricks at their feet and set off down the road soon after breakfast.

"So, what are we looking for in Ripon?" Tom asked as the coach rattled over frozen potholes and rocks.

"Some magical supplies, I think." Lenora glanced at Catherine for confirmation. "And I might buy some more stockings. My old ones aren't nearly warm enough."

Catherine felt as though her teeth were rattling in her skull, though whether that was from the cold or from the shaking carriage, she couldn't say. "I wish the snow were deep enough to use the sleigh."

Tom glanced out of the open window of the carriage. "You'll get your wish soon enough, I'd wager." His eyes flicked from Lenora to Catherine and back. "Are either of you ladies visiting family over the holiday?"

Catherine took her time considering. She hadn't given it much thought, distracted as she was by her studies and duties at the school. "No, I don't think so," she said. "They're going abroad, and it would be too much hassle for me to join them now."

"I'm staying, of course," said Lenora. "What about the younger students? Do they stay?"

Tom shook his head. "I expect they'll be leaving within the next few days to take advantage of the weather. I'm surprised Mr. Segundus hasn't sent them home already."

Lenora and Tom fell into a friendly conversation about Christmas traditions at Starecross Hall, and Catherine tuned them out. She stared across the frigid landscape that had been so colorful just a few months ago. Grey was the earth and grey was the sky, and barren trees reached up like claws to grasp at the clouds. Catherine knew that spring would return vibrancy to the moors, but the bleakness currently felt as eternal as the cold that sank into her bones.

The streets of Ripon weren't crowded, despite the hour; Catherine assumed that the townsfolk were wisely staying in their homes. Tom had never been to Fargate and Flynn's, but he befriended the shopkeeper's assistant with his usual aplomb while Catherine and Lenora wandered the little magic store in search of the items Mr. Segundus had asked them to purchase. As she paid, Catherine caught sight of several notices pasted on the nearby wall.

"Commissions?" she asked the shopkeeper, scanning the notices.

"Aye. We get one or two each month, mostly small things that the locals can handle. Back in September, we had to get a chap from the York Society to take a look at the healing grove just outside town. Did you ladies hear about that mess?"

Catherine and Lenora shared a glance. "We heard about the grove," Lenora said. "But not about the mess."

"The city council received a tip-off that the apples— it's a grove of apple trees, see— could be used for harm. They wanted to cut down the grove, but the York Society got involved.  _ Invaluable site of English magic _ , they said, or something like it."

"We hadn't heard any of this," Catherine said, and Lenora nodded in agreement.

The shopkeeper rocked back on his heels. "I'm surprised. It caused a stir with the locals when they posted guards and the like, I can tell you."

"What did the Society end up doing?" asked Lenora.

"The chap did a right clever bit of magic. I don't understand the particulars— I only know enough about magic to run me business— but it sounded like the apples would grow on trees in Faerie instead of, well,  _ here. _ That way, people can't get to them." The shopkeeper's assistant called to him from across the shop, and he excused himself with a bow.

Catherine frowned. It  _ was _ a clever piece of magic, and she was mad at herself for not thinking of it first. She wondered who had done it and reminded herself to ask during the next meeting she attended. Lenora wandered away to take a closer look at some of the magical accoutrements on a nearby shelf, and Catherine turned back to the notices. One in particular caught her eye; a schoolteacher from West Tanfield suspected that a crumbling, disused footbridge over the River Ure might be part of an ancient fairy road, and he sought the advice of any magicians who might pay him a visit. Catherine took down the notice and approached the shopkeeper. "Do you mind if I take this?"

"I s'pose that's alright," the man said dubiously. "You mean to fill the commission, then?"

"I certainly do. Thank you for the supplies. A pleasure to visit, as always." Catherine took her leave of Fargate and Flynn's, with Tom and Lenora not far behind.

"The town square next," Lenora directed the coachman. "It's just down the road." Tom helped her and Catherine into the carriage; he shouldn't have to, but he had an obliging nature, and they had left Thomas the footman at the house. "What's that?" She nodded toward the paper in Catherine's hands.

Catherine handed her the notice. "Maybe we could look in on our way home. West Tanfield isn't too far out of the way."

Lenora seemed reluctant, but Tom nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes, let's," he said. "It's been ages since I've gone out on a commission."

"I am outvoted," Lenora said with a wry smile. She looked back at the paper in her hand. "Alright, let's talk to this Mr. Locke. I'm not sure what we'll be able to do for him, though."

"It sounds easy enough," said Tom after he read the notice. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's right and the old bridge is part of a road to Faerie."

"Yes, but what does he want us to do about it?" Lenora asked. Tom shrugged.

"That's what we're going to find out," Catherine said. By that time, they had arrived in the town square, and Lenora sought out the seamstress she had come to favor during her time in Yorkshire. Tom affected intolerable boredom while Lenora fretted over her choice of stockings, though Catherine didn’t mind. She might once have resented it— especially if Lenora had been held up as an example of the type of lady Catherine  _ should _ be— but instead, Catherine found Lenora’s particularity regarding clothing rather charming, and she could appreciate the results. She herself paid little mind to such things. What did it matter if the stockings were wool or flannel, so long as they kept one warm? By the time Lenora had made her purchase, it was past time for luncheon, and Catherine was starving. They ate in a public house; the bread and stew were simple but filling. Lenora purchased an extra meal for their coachman, who was grateful. He dug in while Lenora gave him directions to West Tanfield and Mr. Locke's address.

"I don't want to spend too long in the village," Lenora said after the magicians had settled themselves into the coach. "It gets dark so early this far north."

Dark grey clouds gathered on the horizon, and the wind picked up and howled around the carriage. Catherine felt rather guilty for forcing the coachman to leave the warmth and safety of his home. She wondered idly if an enchantment to seal one's clothes against the frigid air might exist; such a thing could be life-saving in the freezing temperatures of an English winter.

Scarcely half an hour later, a tall gatehouse came into view, surrounded by the ruins of an old manor house. Beyond the tower stretched the tiny village of West Tanfield; it held scarcely more than a church, a school, a main street, and several rows of houses. Catherine couldn't imagine more than a few hundred people living there. The notice that she still clutched advised her to call on Mr. Locke at the school, which the coachman located without difficulty. It was a low stone building with a thatched roof; though it was the weekend, smoke billowed from the chimney. Catherine supposed Mr. Locke was working on lessons.

And indeed he was. He rose from his sturdy-looking wooden desk at the head of the one-room building when Catherine pushed open the door, and his dark eyes went immediately to the notice in her hand. "You're here about my commission, then?" he asked eagerly. He had an agitated air about him; that, when combined with his brown hair and his often-mended clothes, rather reminded Catherine of a younger Mr. Segundus— or at least how she imagined a younger Mr. Segundus might have been.

"Yes," Catherine said. "I am Miss Redruth, and my companions are Miss Devereaux and Mr. Levy. I presume we have the honor of addressing Mr. Locke?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Mr. Locke. He waved impatiently. "Are you all magicians, then?"

Lenora seemed miffed, but Catherine was willing to forgive the man's discourtesy. "Indeed we are. My speciality is the study of fairy roads and other areas of fairy activity, and Miss Devereaux is my assistant."

Mr. Locke rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Excellent, excellent. Perhaps we could go this afternoon.”

Catherine and Lenora exchanged a glance. "Go where, exactly?" Catherine asked.

"Faerie," said Mr. Locke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I want to visit Faerie."

Tom looked alarmed. "That would be ill-advised."

Mr. Locke waved away Tom's concern. "Nonsense. I have been studying accounts of other English magicians who have visited Faerie, both in modern times and historical. I've done all the necessary research."

"I assure you, you have not." Tom looked to Catherine. "This is far too dangerous."

"Mr. Levy is correct," said Lenora. "We cannot condone a visit to Faerie, and I strongly advise you to turn your efforts elsewhere."

"But haven't you walked down fairy roads thissen?"

"Aye, we have," said Catherine. "But just far enough to take the lay of the land." Tom and Lenora were right, she knew, but she couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of a visit to Faerie. It had been over a month since she had had the opportunity to map a fairy road, though she still carried her travel journal with her, and she longed for the chance to put it to use once more.

Mr. Locke's face fell, and for the first time, Catherine saw a bone-deep weariness and desperation behind them. "Did you lose someone to Faerie?" Catherine asked. It was only a guess, but the way his eyes darted sideways confirmed that it had been a good one. "I won't pretend to know your pain, but I promise you, your plan won't solve anything. Time and distance do not pass in Faerie the way they do in England."

Lenora offered a sympathetic smile, the kind that annoyed Catherine to no end but seemed to comfort agitated students. It worked well enough on the young schoolteacher. "Mr. Locke, I know it may be difficult to accept—"

"I do not accept it!" Mr. Locke interrupted. "I do not see why I may not at least attempt to search for him." A pained look crossed his face. "For my son. Magicians you may be, but I am a free man. You do not decide what I may or may not do."

"You have no idea where that road may lead." Tom wasn’t unmoved by the man’s predicament, Catherine knew, but he made a good show of it.

"You are the first to answer my advertisement in a month. If you will not join me, then I shall go into Faerie with no help at all." His jaw was set, and his sharp-featured face held an expression of grim determination. Catherine knew that any further antagonism from Tom would do little to dissuade him; indeed, it would only cause him to dig his heels in more. Lenora apparently realized the same thing, for she took hold of Tom's elbow and steered him out of the schoolhouse.

Catherine sighed. "Mr. Locke, would you consider allowing me to go to Faerie in your stead?"

"Without me?" Mr. Locke looked stunned, as though he had never considered the possibility. "But... how would you recognize my son?"

"There is a spell to create a path between two beings," Catherine said. "I have never cast it before, but I know the theory."

Mr. Locke frowned. "Why may I not come with you?"

"Faerie is dangerous, especially for the unwary traveler. Miss Devereaux and I are familiar with the perils of travelling down fairy roads, but we wouldn't be able to protect ourselves adequately if we must also protect you."

Mr. Locke stood silent and perfectly still for a few moments. "I must consider this."

"You don't have long," Catherine said with a glance out the window. "I wouldn't want to be riding down unfamiliar roads, either English or fairy, after sunset." She frowned slightly. How might she go about persuading him to remain at home while she traveled to Faerie? "Why don't you tell me about your son's disappearance? Is that why you suspect the bridge may be part of a fairy road?"

Mr. Locke nodded, his face a carefully-controlled mask. "It were only a few months ago." His North Riding accent, which he was likely in the habit of controlling for his students' sake, slipped into his speech. "My little Matthew were lookin' for frogs by the river. I told him there weren't no frogs this time o' year, but he's a stubborn 'un. Just after midday, the housekeeper called him in for luncheon— it were a Wednesday, so I was ‘ere teachin'."

"Matthew isn't old enough for school?"

Mr. Locke shook his head. "Only four, he is." He furrowed his brow. "The housekeeper told me she saw something right odd. She was in quite a state. She told me that Matthew walked  _ across _ the old footbridge."

Catherine looked askance at him. "Why is that odd?"

"Because the old bridge has no middle," Mr. Locke said. "It fell into the river long ago."

Catherine nodded. "Yes, I can see why your housekeeper might be alarmed. What happened next?"

"He got to the end of the footbridge and he just... vanished. No trace of him." Mr. Locke's face crumpled in grief. "I should have been there. I searched for him for hours."

"I'm sure you did the best you could," said Catherine, distracted. Her reassurance was not as comforting as it might have been; Lenora was better at that sort of thing. She glanced out the window again and saw the lady and Tom speaking outside near the coach, their heads bent together. Lenora looked earnest, but Tom had an expression of anger that Catherine rarely saw on his face. Catherine looked back to Mr. Locke and offered what she hoped was a comforting smile. "I must confer with my colleagues."

Mr. Locke nodded and ran a hand through his wiry hair, and Catherine strode out the door into the wintry air. The wind had picked up while she was inside, and she shivered beneath her furs.

Lenora looked up as she approached, and Catherine shook her head in response to the lady's unasked question. "He's still determined."

Tom frowned at that. "I'm not going into Faerie."

"No one's asking you to." Catherine caught Lenora's eye. "What about it?"

Lenora's face split in a wide grin, and she nodded eagerly. "Of course!"

"Are you sure?" Catherine asked. "Tom is right; it would be a perilous journey."

"I'm quite sure." Lenora shrugged off Catherine's concern. "Shall we go now? Or shall we come back tomorrow?"

Catherine could see Mr. Locke through the wavy glass windows of the little schoolhouse; he paced back and forth, agitated, and ran his hands through his hair several times in the few moments she watched him. "We should go as soon as possible," she decided. "What time is it?" The churchbells tolled half past two. "Oh. It's later than I wanted, but by the look of those clouds, if we don't go now, we won't have the opportunity again for a few days at least."

"Mr. Locke is desperate." Lenora nodded in agreement. "If we don't go now, he may do something foolish."

"The two of you are doing something foolish," said Tom. "I can't believe you're actually considering this. I expect recklessness from Miss Redruth, but not from you, Miss Devereaux."

Mr. Locke stepped outside then; for a moment, Catherine was worried that they had been arguing loud enough to draw his attention even from within the schoolhouse. "Alright," he said reluctantly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I agree to your terms. I shall remain here, while you go." He handed Catherine a small pair of shoes. "Perhaps these will help you find Matthew."

Catherine took the shoes gingerly; they were quite dirty. "They very well might. Thank you." Mr. Locke looked as though he wanted to say something else, so she waited.

"I paid a magician to search for him using a silver basin," said Mr. Locke after a moment. "It was foolish of me, I know. The chap didn't find anything. But that might just mean that he's enchanted, right?" He looked from Catherine to Lenora and back with an expression of desperation. "It doesn't mean that he's... right?"

"Of course," Lenora assured him. "Scrying is a most imprecise process."

Tom crossed his arms. "Mr. Segundus wouldn't approve of this." It was a low blow, but Catherine was sure he was right. She fought to keep a controlled expression on her face; she would not be goaded into another argument.

"You're welcome to stay here with Mr. Locke," Lenora said crossly. She turned to the coachman, who looked surprised to be included in the conversation. "Would you be willing to drive us into Faerie?"

The coachman wrung his hands in anxiety, but Catherine spared him from answering. "The coach won't be able to cross the footbridge. We shall have to go on horseback or on foot."

"I s'pose I might un'itch the 'orses," the coachman said, looking doubtful. "But they're dreadful skittish creatures. Even if you found tack for 'em, I don't s'pose they'd take too well to Faerie."

He was correct, as Catherine determined shortly after. She led both of the unhitched horses along the bank of the river until she found a structure that could only be the old footbridge. What was left of it looked precarious and fragile; the two sides reached barely a few feet over the water. She put one foot on the stones and paused, looking across the water at the other end of the bridge. Before she stepped onto the bridge, she could have sworn that the middle had fallen away completely, as Mr. Locke had said. Now, however, she saw the bridge faintly superimposed over the river; at the same time, she could not see the bridge at all. It was a most curious sensation, but she had experienced it enough times to know that this was the result of looking at a space (or a person, or an object) that existed differently in England and in Faerie. Catherine walked further out onto all that remained of the footbridge, leaving the horse behind. When she reached the edge, she felt with her toe at the space where the bridge both did and did not exist. She wasn't surprised when her foot met solid stone.

"Excellent!" said Lenora from behind her. Catherine jumped; she hadn't noticed the lady following her. Lenora clutched the small leather briefcase that served as their field kit, and she had swapped out her fashionable mink scarf for a roughly-knit red one. "Now see if the horses will cross."

"I was just about to," Catherine said, slightly nettled. She took the reins of one of the horses once more and led it onto the bridge. It went willingly enough for the first few steps, but it shied away once it reached the apparent edge. She frowned and repeated the process with the other horse. After much coaxing, it took a few uncertain steps onto the fairy road, and Catherine managed to lead it to the other side of the bridge.

"I guess we'll have to make do with the one." Lenora didn't seem daunted by this prospect, and her excitement was contagious. Catherine found herself growing less apprehensive by the second. She stayed with the bolder horse, a grey gelding, while Lenora took the timid one back to Tom. She was far enough away that she couldn't make out the words they exchanged, but their postures were clear enough. Lenora turned on her heel, her face stormy, and strode back to where Catherine stood waiting. "Tom will stay with Mr. Locke," she said as she approached. She didn't hesitate as she strode out over the missing section of the bridge and joined Catherine on the far side. "We should take it in turns to ride. Shall I cast Taillemache's Shield?"

Catherine nodded, and they spent the next several minutes casting every spell of protection and warding they could think of upon themselves and one another. Catherine was rather dizzy by the end of it; judging by the bright spots of color that had appeared high on Lenora's cheeks, her own magic had a similar effect upon the lady. She fished a red scarf matching Lenora's from the field kit and wrapped it around her neck. "We shall have to cast two spells of pathfinding," she decided. "One to lead us back to England— you should cast that one— and I will cast a spell that creates a path between two beings."

Lenora obligingly cast her spell, then frowned before she spoke. "If the boy is enchanted, he may not be himself. Perhaps you should make his person, rather than his  _ self _ , the target of your spell."

Catherine agreed; as she spoke the incantation, she made several modifications to the spell to specify that it should lead them to young Matthew, even if his mind weren't his own. Matthew's tiny shoes, being well-acquainted with the boy's feet, were useful in this regard. Fortunately, Catherine needed no tincture of madness to see the silvery path that stretched out before her. She boosted Lenora onto the horse and set off down the crumbling cobblestone road to Faerie.

There was no abrupt transition as there had been when they visited Avalon. It was as though both lands were overlaid upon one another here, and the old bridge allowed them to walk from one to the other. For the first few minutes, she saw two landscapes surrounding her, but eventually the grim English countryside faded away. Although Faerie was as wintry as England, the light dustings of snow had a strange iridescence, and the gnarled trees twisted in impossible ways. Catherine tried to follow the bends and crooks of the branches on a nearby tree— it looked like an oak, but its trunk and branches were chased with silver— but found that her eyes were led astray each time.

Lenora's voice startled Catherine back to reality, though she couldn't quite make out the words.

"What did you say?" asked Catherine as she shook her head. She felt as if she were underwater.

Lenora looked at her oddly. "Are you quite alright? You keep walking off the road."

Catherine looked down; the lady was right. She had led the horse several yards off the cobblestone road and toward the trees. The silvery path that she ought to be following hovered above the road like a thin, wavery film of fabric; it stretched off into the distance as far as she could see, never deviating from the dilapidated stone road. "Sorry," she said. "I... lost track of myself."

"Would you like to take a turn riding?" Lenora's voice held a trace of worry.

Catherine shook her head. "No. You can't see the path forward, can you? I don't mind leading."

"I suppose," said Lenora, though she looked doubtful. "Well, let me know if you change your mind."

Catherine adjusted her scarf so it covered her nose and mouth; this way, a bit of red was always just at the bottom of her vision. She did not lose herself in the labyrinthine tree branches again.

After about an hour of walking, the hilly, open landscape had given way to a rather dense forest. The trees pressed close around the path, and more than once, Catherine thought she saw shadows moving deeper in the woods. There was a sense of ancient-ness here, as though these trees had weathered far more history than she could imagine, and they would stand through far more before they were felled by axe or by age. It was a sobering thought, and she felt as though she ought to tiptoe. The gelding's hooves sounded loud and strident amidst the sullen trees. Catherine thought she heard the sound of wind whistling through the crooked branches, but the air was crisp and still.

They came to a crossroads marked by a blank sign and a small cairn of stones, and the silvery path that led to Matthew veered off to the left and into the woods just after the paths crossed. "It's this way," Catherine said. She stepped off the road carefully, alert for any creatures that might lurk in the nearby trees, but the forest was unnaturally silent. She wasn't sure if that was reassuring.

Lenora dismounted and left the gelding on the road before following Catherine deeper into the woods. The branches grew so densely overhead that she was sure the forest beneath the canopy was cast in perpetual twilight during the warmer months when the trees were verdant with leaves. The air took on a different quality beneath the branches; it smelled like moss and stone and ancient slumbering things that Catherine was quite sure she didn't want to awaken. She followed the silvery path over massive exposed tree roots and between frost-covered boulders, and she had the sense that the forest watched her. It was not angry or curious, simply aware, but Catherine didn't care for the trees' regard.

The magical path came to an end in a small clearing. Wan sunlight filtered down through the branches. Faint gurgling noises indicated a brook lay not too far away, and a ring of stone cairns surrounded the clearing, just beyond the edge of the trees. Catherine barely noticed these details, however. She was far too focused on what lay at the end of the path: a small pile of delicate white bones, stark and lonely upon the barren ground.


	11. The Shadow in the Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 1820

Lenora stumbled to a halt beside Catherine. "Oh dear," she whispered. She pressed her gloved fingers to her lips; Catherine noticed that her hand trembled. "Oh, poor dear little boy."

Catherine felt numb. She was no stranger to death; like many women her age, she had known her share of young men who had died fighting for the king. However, she had never before been confronted so viscerally by it. She had only ever seen the sanitized aftermath, with mourners in black and solemn prayers echoing through a chapel. The reality in front of her was overwhelming, and she found herself at a loss for words.

Lenora recovered first. "We ought to bury him, don't you think?"

"Bury him?" Catherine’s voice came out in a choked whisper, and she couldn't look away from what remained of Matthew.

"Yes, a proper Christian burial." Lenora stepped in front of Catherine, blocking her line of sight to the pile of bones, and took up both of her hands. "You must have some idea of what to say."

Catherine had always held a strange fascination with the funeral rites her father performed; like a true Romantic, she was drawn to the mystical and the irrational. She found, though, that the reality of it wasn’t quite as she imagined. She had thought of Death as a tranquil crossing-over into the next life, something lovely and full of grace; the stark sight of the boy’s bones lying upon the cold ground was anything but. Still, she nodded and knelt beside the small pile of bones, ignoring the way the frozen, stony ground dug into her knees. Lenora knelt beside her, still holding one of her hands. "Our Father, which art in Heaven," she began. "Hallowed be Thy name." Lenora joined her for the rest of the Lord's Prayer, though when the lady misspoke a word, Catherine gasped in horror.

Lenora looked over at her oddly. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, as though by whispering she could avoid disrupting their prayer further.

Catherine just shook her head, her hand pressed to her mouth. A deep sadness rose in her like a well overflowing; tears streamed down her cheeks, though she refused to allow herself to sob until Lenora took her into her arms. Some dam inside Catherine broke, and she trembled with the weight of her grief. It was several minutes before she was able to pull herself back together.

“Are you quite alright?” Lenora asked, her voice gentle.

Catherine realized that the lady had been stroking one gloved hand gently down her back, and she made a noise of protest when she stopped. “Yes,” Catherine said after a moment. She dried her tears on the hem of her sleeve. “I think so. It… surprised me, is all.”

Lenora nodded as though she expected nothing less, and Catherine felt strangely comforted.  _ How odd, _ she thought. Had it been anyone else nodding in such a fashion she would have felt patronized or condescended to. Lenora, though, held no such ill-wishes for Catherine in her heart; of this, Catherine was sure.

The funeral— once they proceeded— was almost heretical, as Catherine wasn't ordained by the Church, but she supposed she might be forgiven. After the makeshift service, Catherine spoke a spell, her voice still harsh with grief, and stones grumbled and tumbled over one another as the earth swallowed the boy's bones. All that was left to mark the spot where he had died was a patch of disturbed soil that would undoubtedly settle with time.

"Do you know how old he was?" Lenora asked after the ground stopped shaking.

"Four," said Catherine. The earth shifted beneath her feet once again, and she was nearly knocked sideways. When she grabbed onto Lenora's arm to stabilize herself, she noticed that the lady's face was set in a look of deep concentration. A dark grey boulder in the shape of a tombstone flung itself up from the ground, and rough letters appeared on its surface:  _ Matthew Locke, 1816-1820. _ Catherine wished they could do more, but the trees had begun to press in upon the clearing in a most threatening manner.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome," Lenora said. She glanced around the clearing. "I feel like we're being watched."

With a thought, Catherine dismissed the spell that led from her to Matthew's bones. She couldn't see the path that led back to England, but she was happy to have Lenora as her guide. They retraced their steps to the gelding, who hadn't strayed far from where they had left him. Lenora boosted Catherine into the saddle this time. Their footprints were still present, though fainter than they had been just minutes ago. The imprints looked warped somehow, as though the snow had melted and re-frozen. Catherine couldn't remember any such change in temperature, nor had she noticed any other disturbance.  _ How odd _ , she thought to herself as she adjusted her scarf.

The forest around Catherine wavered like sheets hung out to dry in a gentle breeze. "This land is all too shallow," she murmured, half to herself. "It is painted on the sky."

Lenora shot her an odd look. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," said Catherine. "It's just an old folk song."

"How curious. I thought I recognized it." She frowned. "From where, I couldn't say."

"Well, it  _ is _ about the Raven King. I wouldn't be surprised if you picked it up at Starecross. I think I heard Tom teaching it to the younger students once."

Lenora nodded, but she still seemed uncertain. "Maybe so."

They lapsed into near-silence afterward. Catherine felt an increasing pressure the back of her neck, and she was certain by now that something was following them through the trees. Shadows flashed between the tree trunks, and the branches overhead twitched and rustled in a breeze that didn't exist. Catherine thought she heard whispering coming from deeper in the forest, and she idly considered dismounting and following the source of the voice. She wondered what it might say to her, if she could just hear it proper. She only needed to get a bit closer—

Lenora absently hummed a tune, and Catherine was drawn back into herself.

"Poor Mr. Locke," the lady said after a few minutes. Her voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. "I dread telling him the news."

Catherine made a noncommittal noise. She was distracted from the conversation by an odd phenomenon: a breeze now played about her and the gelding, though Lenora, only an arms-length away, appeared unaffected. The wind wasn't strong, nor did it chill her; on the contrary, it carried the green, earthy scents of spring. It tugged at the edges of her clothes and the wisps of hair that had escaped her neat updo, and her red scarf slipped down around her neck. Catherine noted all these details in the back of her mind and didn't find them alarming.

"The land here doesn't seem too dangerous," Lenora continued. "Perhaps we might guide Mr. Locke here sometime to visit the grave. He might find it comforting to know that his son was buried in as proper a manner as might be managed."

Catherine didn't answer. She stared off into the forest at her side, and something beckoned to her from between the trees. She couldn't quite discern the form of it at first, so she halted the horse and dismounted. "There's something in the trees," she said without taking her eyes off the forest. "Just there. Do you see it?"

Lenora stood behind Catherine and followed her line of sight. Catherine shivered at her proximity, but it was only a brief distraction before the shadow in the forest caught her attention again. "No," the lady said. Her voice sounded troubled through her scarf. "I don't see anything."

It was vitally important, Catherine knew, that she follow the thing that beckoned to her. It had some knowledge to impart, or perhaps some scrap of wisdom she wouldn't be able to learn anywhere else. Maybe it could tell her the secrets of the distant lands beyond Heaven and Hell, where no magician had ever dared to tread. The details were fuzzy in Catherine's mind, but the compulsion was clear: she must step into the woods and follow the shadow wherever it may lead her. A strong wind blew out from between the trees, carrying the sharp scent of lichen and stone, and Catherine's scarf was torn from her neck and thrown behind her. The shadow was close, close enough to touch, if Catherine had the courage to reach for it.

She took one step off the cobblestone road, and then another. Lenora called out behind her, and Catherine almost turned around to look, but she knew she mustn't take her eyes off the shadow that flitted ahead, just out of reach. If she did, the shadow would disappear forever. She must not look away. The air swirled around her and encouraged her steps forward; she felt light and airy, almost giddy with the promise of undiscovered knowledge. Lenora called again, her voice more distant, and Catherine frowned. Something tugged at the edges of her mind. The shadow danced between the trees, a formless mass of possibility, but she stilled her footsteps. She felt a pressure in her palm— a hand entwined with hers— and realized that Lenora had caught up with her. The more she thought about that, the more important it seemed.

Looking away from the shadow in the forest was the hardest thing Catherine had ever had to do.

She met Lenora's eyes, green-gold above the red of her scarf, and the last of the enchantment fell away. The lady laughed, a little hysterically, Catherine thought, and pulled her into her arms. Lenora was a warm, solid presence in the bleak fairy woods. She didn't dart away, and Catherine didn't need to chase her; they had given themselves to each other, knowingly and joyfully, in all the ways that mattered.

"I was so worried," Lenora murmured, her voice muffled against Catherine's neck. "I thought you were lost to a fairy enchantment."

"You brought me back," replied Catherine. Lenora made a noise that was halfway between a sob and a laugh and clutched her tighter. "I shan't stray again."

Lenora kissed her briefly. "Yes you shall. You will wander down fairy roads and travel through fairy gates and drive the rest of us absolutely mad with worry." They kissed again, less briefly. "But I will be here to pull you back, should you need it."

The trees around them creaked, and Catherine thought she heard a menacing mutter coming from deeper in the forest. "I think it's time we go back to England," she said.

"That would be prudent," Lenora agreed. She led the way back to the cobblestone road, presumably following her spell of pathfinding. The trees creaked and groaned around them, though the air was once again still. She boosted Catherine back onto the placid gelding, and they set off down the road.

The sensation of being watched didn't fade. Catherine, heartily sick of the forest, grew irritable. Lenora's head swiveled back and forth every few seconds, which only served to put Catherine even more on edge. "Is anything following us?" she asked, mostly to stop the lady's constant searching.

Lenora frowned. "I don't see anything, but I can't shake the feeling that we're being hunted. Can we ride double?"

Catherine halted the horse, and Lenora swung herself into the saddle from the ground. The overcast sky darkened to a moody lilac as the gelding trotted along the path, and the shadows of the trees deepened. "How far are we from England, would you say?"

Lenora, seated behind Catherine, leaned to the side and peered at the path ahead. "Less than an hour's ride. I can see where the forest ends."

They weren't assailed during their journey back to England, but the oppressive scrutiny never abated. The gelding trotted tirelessly, though his breaths came quicker as the forest thinned, and lather started to form on his coat. Catherine felt guilty; the horse would be in no state to pull the carriage back to Starecross that evening. The fairy bridge— and the end of their ill-advised adventure— approached. It looked solid from this side, and the horse trotted across without hesitation. The tiny village of West Tanfield glowed with warm light in the early evening. Smoke still rose from the chimney of the nearby school, and Catherine supposed Mr. Locke awaited them. She wasn't sure how to break the news to him. Perhaps she could foist the unpleasant duty off on Lenora, who was much more tactful than she.

Catherine slid off the horse, the lady following suit, and led it into town by the reins. Her feet ached, but the gelding had borne the weight of two riders for over an hour; he deserved a rest. They left the horse tied to a post outside the schoolhouse and pushed open the door. Mr. Locke was indeed still inside, bent over a stack of papers on his desk. He scribbled furiously for a few moments, flecks of ink staining his shirtcuffs, then crossed out what he had written with a frustrated sigh. He didn't appear to notice the two magicians until Catherine shut the door with slightly more force than necessary. Despite the low fire burning in the grate, the inside of the schoolhouse was chilly.

Mr. Locke looked from Lenora to Catherine and back, his eyes wide. "You didn't... he's not..."

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Locke," Lenora said, her voice as gentle as Catherine had ever heard it. "Your son is dead."

Mr. Locke buried his face in his hands. "No, you made a mistake. It must have been a fairy trick. A changeling or the like." His voice came out muffled.

"There was no mistake," said Lenora. "Miss Redruth's spell led us directly to young Matthew's bones. We buried him in the Christian manner with a gravestone to mark the site."

Mr. Locke's hands formed into fists, and he stared down at his yellow wooden desk. "You won't receive a commission for this." He glared at Lenora first, then Catherine. "I refuse to pay you for such malicious falsehoods. I shall hire another magician, a proper  _ gentleman _ , and  _ he _ shall find my son for me."

"That would be a waste of money." Catherine spoke for the first time since they entered the tiny schoolhouse. Lenora laid a calming hand on her wrist, but she shook the lady off. "We have told you true that your son is dead. Any magician who tells you otherwise is not a gentleman."

"You shall have no commission from me," said Mr. Locke, his teeth gritted. He fixed his hard gaze on the desk once more. "I will thank you to take your leave."

Catherine opened her mouth to reply, but Lenora spoke first. "Goodnight, Mr. Locke. We shall be at one of the inns in town this evening should you wish to contact us." She took Catherine by the elbow and dragged her from the schoolhouse. "He doesn't want to believe his son is dead," the lady said. "Arguing with him would do nothing to convince him."

Catherine knew Lenora was right, but she was still frustrated by Mr. Locke's refusal to pay. She spotted Starecross Hall's coach outside an old stone building with a red shingle roof. A carefully-painted wooden sign proclaimed it to be the Bull Inn. A groom darted out of the stables as they approached, and Lenora tipped him to put up the gelding for the night while Catherine pushed open the heavy wooden door. The inside was dark-paneled and dim, but Catherine appreciated the warmth that surrounded her after so long in the cold. The few age-darkened tables and booths were mostly occupied, and a low, contented buzz of conversation hung over the small crowd of patrons. Catherine spotted Tom and the coachman in a corner table, each with a drink and a plate in front of them. "Do you want anything from the bar?" she asked as Lenora joined her inside.

"Whatever you're having," Lenora replied, and Catherine raised an eyebrow. She had a feeling Lenora would regret that, but the lady had already stepped away to join Tom and the coachman.

Catherine ordered two dark ales and, after a quick glance over the menu, two bowls of stew and a loaf of bread. "Do you have any rooms available?" she asked as the bartender poured the drinks.

"One," the man replied in a rough voice. "Though if you ladies are accompanied by that dark gentleman in the corner, he's already booked rooms for the two o' ye."

"How thoughtful." Catherine was surprised at Tom's foresight. She paid for the drinks and carried them over to the table. Lenora was in the middle of recounting the day's adventure, and Tom's expression was caught between disapproval and keen interest.

"How  _ did _ you manage to throw off the enchantment without casting a spell?" Tom asked as Catherine sat down.

"I was reminded of things more important to me than what the enchantment offered," said Catherine.

Lenora blushed, and Tom looked as though he wanted to press for more details, but the lady forged ahead with her story before he got the chance. "The ride back was uneventful, which I'll not complain about, but I felt like I was being watched the whole time. It was downright unsettling." Catherine nodded in agreement and took a large gulp of her ale, and Lenora followed suit. She made a face at the taste, though the expression was so faint that Catherine doubted anyone else would have seen it. Tom spent the rest of the evening telling stories about how he performed small feats of magic for the amusement of the villagers and the betterment of the village. Catherine suspected that he was downplaying some achievements and bragging overmuch about others; such was his nature.

The three magicians retired early that night. Catherine was loath to be parted from Lenora after the events of the day, but she understood the necessity of keeping the particulars of their relationship a secret. Though the Raven King had never outlawed such relations, public opinion was set firmly against them, and even Catherine recognized the need for propriety in this case. At the top of the staircase, however, she was struck by inspiration. "Check your room and tell me if there is a mirror," she said to Lenora, and she waited in the hallway. The lady reappeared a moment later with a nod, and Catherine continued. "Don't cover it tonight."

Lenora shot her a look of confusion.

“Only if you’re amenable,” Catherine said.

“ _ Oh. _ ” A slow smile spread over Lenora's face, and she nodded. "I'll say goodnight, then." She retreated to her room, just across the hall from Catherine's.

Catherine wasted little time. She performed a perfunctory nighttime routine, then draped her long woolen coat over her nightgown and dressing-gown. She contemplated her mirror for a moment, her dark hair loose over her shoulders, before speaking a spell of dissolution and stepping through.

The King's Roads were frigid, as Catherine knew they would be. No snow fell in this strange land, but the wind that whistled through the crumbling masonry drove the cold deep into her bones. Her teeth chattered as she cast a spell to guide her to Lenora, and she hoped that the path would not be very long. She didn't think she had the fortitude to cross the dark moor that lay beneath John Uskglass's unimaginably vast bridge. Fortunately for Catherine, the gold-film path of her spell led her further into the stone passages littered with discarded shoes. She descended into a stone hall so dark that she was obliged to conjure a globe of cold, blue-white light. Though her light was steady, the shadows it created seemed to waver and dance. Several times, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned to get a better look, she saw only a statue or a likeness of the Raven King. As she walked, the walls of the stone passage grew damp and the air grew murky, and Catherine was quite sure she was underneath one of the vast canals of gloomy black water. She thought of it all collapsing upon her and crushing and drowning her, and she quickened her footsteps.

Before too long— but a much longer journey than the few paces that separated her room at the inn from Lenora's— Catherine's path ended at a mirror. She stepped through and into Lenora's arms.

The following morning dawned bright and clear, and Catherine woke Lenora with a kiss. She decided to risk crossing the hall back to her own room instead of venturing on the King's Roads again, though Lenora insisted that she borrow a hairbrush so she might have a plausible reason for being in the lady's room so early, should she be spotted. Catherine rolled her eyes at the precaution, but Lenora's foresight proved to be valuable. Tom reached the top of the stairs just as Catherine opened the door. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Catherine in her dressing gown, clutching her overcoat and Lenora's hairbrush, but made no comment on her appearance as she shuffled across the hall.

They left West Tanfield early after a light breakfast. The heavy winds of the previous day had died down, though the air was so cold it felt sharp on Catherine's exposed skin. The coachman was prepared, however: he had heated up several bricks earlier that morning and placed them in the coach by the passengers' feet, keeping several for himself. Fortunately, the road to Starecross wasn't long, and they arrived in the midmorning. Mr. Segundus hurried out to meet them while the coach trundled off toward the stables.

"Please don't make a fuss," Catherine said when she saw the look on Mr. Segundus's face. "We're fine."

"I wasn't going to," said Mr. Segundus, but his faded brown hair whipped around his face in a most agitated manner despite the still air, belying his words.

Lenora chivvied the small group into the relative warmth of the hall. "I hope you weren't worried."

"Of course not." Mr. Segundus attempted to smooth his hair down with little success. "Mr. Levy sent me a letter to explain the situation."

Tom nodded. "I almost missed the afternoon post." He shifted uncomfortably. "I may have been a bit hasty with my wording. I apologize for any undue concern I may have caused you."

"I suppose it remains to be seen whether or not my concern was undue," Mr. Segundus said. A maid met them in the hall to take their coats. "Ah, Anna. Please have Mrs. Price send up tea for five."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “I believe you have made an error in counting.”

Mr. Segundus cleared his throat. “John— er, Mr. Childermass— returned earlier today. I don’t believe he will take tea with us, but he may want some later.” His simple statement revealed nothing untoward, but judging from his tiny smile, Catherine was quite sure that he and Childermas had reconciled. She refused to speculate further upon the nature of that reconciliation.

The magicians settled themselves in the drawing room, and Catherine and Lenora recounted the story of their ill-fated adventure once more. Mr. Segundus's frown of disapproval deepened by the minute, and Catherine decided it would be prudent to withhold the finer details of her enchantment. Tom furrowed his brow at the omissions but didn't interrupt.

"Well," said Mr. Segundus after Catherine finished. He set his teacup down with slightly more force than necessary. "I'm glad you're both back safe. I never thought I'd see the day when Mr. Levy, of all people, is the sensible one." Tom accepted this criticism with grace. Catherine suspected Mr. Segundus would give her a sharper scolding in private. Lenora looked properly chastised, but she shared a mischievous glance with Catherine.

"Shouldn't we update your map?" the lady asked. Her voice sounded innocent, but a spark of joy hovered around the corners of eyes, and Catherine knew she had something in mind. They set down their teacups and left Tom and Mr. Segundus in the drawing room, and Lenora took ahold of the crook of Catherine's elbow and steered her out through the side door of Starecross Hall.

"Where are we going?" asked Catherine, laughing. She did want to update her map, but it was only a minor concern. "It's freezing." But Lenora dragged her through the shallow snow to the river that ran through the back of the estate. A small copse of trees clustered around a bend in the river; Catherine enjoyed visiting the location in warmer months when the weather was more agreeable, but she was shivering with cold now. Lenora positioned her under a tree and stepped back, surveying the situation. "What are you doing?" Catherine wrapped her arms around herself in a futile attempt to protect herself from the cold.

Lenora closed her eyes and spoke a long incantation. Her magic rolled outward in waves; it set the bare tree branches trembling, and Catherine shivered for an entirely different reason. When the lady opened her eyes, the air in the copse of trees had become warm and fresh-smelling, and the snow on the ground had melted away. The branches above were still bare, but Catherine thought she smelled the rich green scent of sprouting heather on the moors. Her head spun, and she knelt on the sun-warmed ground. Somehow, Lenora had created a tiny haven of early summer within the trees around the river. She looked delighted, and Catherine reached out to pull her into the warm air beneath the branches. "This is incredible," she murmured in Lenora's ear as the lady arranged her skirts and sat on the ground beside her. "Where did you learn how to do this? I don't remember this from any books."

"I came up with it myself," Lenora said. She lay back on the grassy riverbank— still slightly damp from the melted snow— and gazed up at the grey sky through the branches. "It's adapted from the Witch's Hut spell I used back in August, but most of it's mine." She had a modest look on her face, but Catherine knew she was proud.

"It's your first spell, right? The first one you created, other than those from blood magic?" Catherine lay back next to Lenora, their shoulders pressed together and their skirts overlapping.

"Well, I didn't really  _ create _ it," Lenora demurred. "The idea is mine, but the structure was..."

"You did create it," said Catherine. "The words are your own, as is the result." She rolled onto her side and wrapped her arm around Lenora's waist. "And it's lovely."

"It’s not so much.” Lenora shrugged as best as she could in her awkward position. She didn’t seem to be concerned about ruining her dress with mud from the thawed riverbank, so Catherine didn’t worry about it either.

“This is something to be proud of,” Catherine insisted. “You’ve made such progress. You really have.”

Lenora frowned at that, which hadn’t been Catherine’s intention at all. “You mean, I have no need for blood magic, now that I can do  _ proper _ magic.”

“No, I mean you have progressed most admirably in your study and mastery of magic.” Catherine pushed herself up on one elbow, and Lenora did the same; they reclined together on the riverbank, facing one another. Lenora seemed mollified, and she pulled Catherine close for a kiss after a quick glance back toward the house. The lady really was lovely, Catherine reflected, and she resolved to never forget how lucky she was to have such a companion. She said so to Lenora, who laughed and kissed her again.

“We ought to head back to the house,” Lenora said breathlessly some minutes later. “I’m not sure how much longer the spell will last.”

Catherine considered. “Soon,” she decided. “But I’d like to remain here a bit longer.” She gestured around at the copse of trees. “After all, it’s a beautiful day.” Lenora laughed, and it was one of the most delightful sounds Catherine had ever heard.

Wind swirled around their summer haven, throwing snow into the air, but the cold was no match for Lenora's spell. The snowflakes melted and showered the magicians with tiny droplets of rain, and Catherine turned her face into the tiny cloudburst to catch the raindrops on her cheeks. Birds sang in the distance, though whether they were the result of Lenora's magic or simply the natural inhabitants of the Yorkshire moors, she couldn't say. She had many things she had once thought she might never have: magic, and purpose, and companionship with a kindred spirit. She had summer in the midst of winter, she had Lenora, and she was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading!


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